Security!
by ack1308
Summary: A fanfiction writer finds himself within the story. What is he to do?
1. Chapter 1

**Security!**

* * *

An SI Worm fanfic

* * *

Disclaimers:

_1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it._

_2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, then I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, then I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations._

_3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion. Posting negative reviews using an anonymous account is a good way to get said reviews deleted._

* * *

Introduction

* * *

I lounged on the couch, my laptop in front of me. I used a tab to flick open the Worm Resources Thread, to double-check a data point, then I went back to planning the new fic. It was going to be a fix fic, of course; I enjoyed writing those most of all.

My first Worm fic had used an OC to handle most of the alterations to canon; since then, with my other fics, I had gone with changes in continuity to alter matters. A thread on SI characters caught my eye, and I thought about it. Someone based on me; fat, forty-plus ... what could someone like me hope to accomplish in the Wormverse?

I thought of one of my more recent fics, where the main character had been slung back in time, losing her powers in the process, but in possession of a great deal of 'future' knowledge. Knowledge, properly applied, is power.

Perhaps one of the staff at Winslow? Taylor could definitely use a friend there. Take some of the heat off of her, make the bullies leave her alone.

I considered making over one of the canon characters; Gladly, maybe, or Quinlan. But both of those showed up in plot too much to be easily replaced.

A substitute teacher, maybe? _I could do that._

But then, a conversation with a friend online put me on the right track.

If I wrote my self-insert character as having the same occupation as myself - that is, security guard - he would have a ready-made excuse to be at Winslow. The last detail fell into place.

I opened a new Word file and started typing. First, the title of the fic. And then the opening paragraphs.

=/=

_Principal Blackwell read the email again and frowned._

_**Ms Blackwell:**_

_**Per the recent Taylor Hebert locker incident, a security guard will be stationed at Winslow High during the hours of ...**_

_Absently, she sent an acknowledgement, letting her employers know that she'd read their damn stupid email. She wanted to mail them back, to tell them that she didn't need some flat-footed rent-a-cop roaming the hallways of her school, but she knew it would do no good._

_Idly, she recalled a joke. "Teachers would be able to get a lot more done, if it wasn't for all the students.". Running Winslow High was a lot like that; the school would run rather more smoothly if it wasn't for all those square-peg students, stubbornly refusing to fit into the round holes that had been neatly set aside for them._

_Students like Taylor Hebert; if she had just had the decency to fit in like everyone else, then the whole locker incident would never have happened. Winslow would never have made the papers, and she would not have had to kowtow to an enraged Danny Hebert. Paying for his daughter's hospital bills had put quite a dent in the school's budget for the year; another factor that militated against getting in a security guard ..._

=/=

I stopped and re-read what I had typed, and then frowned; Blackwell was coming across as just a little too heartless and calculating. If I let the story continue in this vein, she would end up punishing Taylor for the sheer audacity of complaining about being bullied. I decided to revise it, rein it in a little.

_Later._It was late; I was getting tired. Leaning back, I let my eyelids drift shut for just a moment.

This happened on occasion. Not quite sleepy enough to drift off, not quite awake enough to stay alert. I would ease back and forth between sleep and wakening states, and occasionally type a few sentences into the story. Sometimes I would even doze for a little bit and dream that I'd typed far more than I really had. Then I would be faced with trying to remember how the story had gone in my dream, and try to recreate it.

* * *

Opening my eyes again, I started creating the character that I was going to insert into the story. _Michael Allen. Veteran security officer._I paused, pondering. Licensed for concealed carry?

On balance, I didn't like the idea, but then, this was America and a world where conflict was somewhat more likely than the when/where that I lived in. _Yeah, okay. Concealed carry._

A thought struck me, and I did a bit of quick research. The original author had never specified precisely where Brockton Bay was, but there was a Brockton in Massachusetts, and so I used that state as a test case. And I came up against a hard block; Massachusetts CCW laws had a definitive ban against concealed firearms inside school grounds. _So, he has a concealed carry permit, but he doesn't carry inside Winslow. I can work with that._

I typed a few more lines, setting the story up, then let my eyelids drift closed again. Maybe I should shut this down for the evening and go to bed ...

=/=

I opened my eyes again, to the rasping buzz of my alarm clock.

_What the hell? I didn't set my alarm clock. What the hell time is it, anyway?_

I forced my eyes open, stared at the bright green numbers on the face of the alarm clock.

It took me a few moments to register what I was looking at.

* * *

One: it was five thirty in the morning. I do not get up at five thirty in the morning. This is a physical impossibility.

Two: My alarm clock has red numbers, not green. This was not my alarm clock.

Three: Not my bedroom. I do not keep sports posters on my bedroom wall. Plus, the furniture was all wrong.

* * *

I frowned, trying to make sense of it all. _Did I go out? Crash at someone else's place?_

I shook my head. I couldn't see it. I only go out on Mondays and Tuesdays, and then only to friends' places. And I'm always capable of driving back afterward.

Sitting up in bed, I stared at the sports poster. And it began to dawn on me that it wasn't a sports poster. I turned on the bedside light and directed the beam at the poster.

That was people in costume, not in sports gear. And as I began to register details, verbal descriptions began to click into place.

_Tall woman, black hair, black and grey costume, ruined tower on front of costume, long cape._

_Armoured man, blue and silver, visor covering eyes, carrying a polearm._

_Young woman, blue bodysuit with silver circuitry pattern._

* * *

I began to shake; I stood up, the alarm clock still blaring, forgotten. Leaning closer, I stared at the poster. Was this some fan thing? People dressed up in costumes from the story? Or a CGI thing? Had someone made a movie about this and no-one told me?

If it was CGI, then it was the best I'd ever seen. Absolutely photo-realistic. And if it was people in costumes, they wore them _well_. Like they were born to it.

I pointed at the characters and spoke out loud, as if I could dispel the haze over my thoughts that way.

"Armsmaster, Alexandria, Legend, Battery ... that must be Assault ... Eidolon? Huh. That's probably Velocity then ..." At the end of the row, a dark-skinned woman bearing a heavily modified assault rifle, stars-and-stripes scarf across her face. "Definitely Miss Militia."

I sat down on the bed again, the wind going out of me.

"What the _fuck,"_ I said out loud, "is going on?"

=/=

One hot shower later, it was still refusing to make sense to me. Pulling on a bathrobe and slippers – it was _cold!_ – I wandered out into a living room, still half-expecting to see the back end of a movie set, or people leaping out to spring the most elaborate April Fools prank I had ever seen.

Nothing of the sort happened. It was an ordinary living room. Except that, looking at it carefully, it was a living room that I would live in. Things were where I would put them. I could believe that I lived here.

Except that I had never seen this place before in my life.

=/=

Moments later, as I ate cereal at the small table, I reassessed that view. I had never seen this place before ... but I knew where everything was. Because it was where I would put it.

The cereal was a brand I had never seen before, but it was close enough to what I usually ate to not give me problems. I dumped the bowl in the sink, rinsed it, and looked around.

On the fridge was a schedule sheet. A roster. A name.

_Michael Allen._

And under it, the location for work.

_Winslow High School._

I sat down again.

"No. No fucking way."

I'd dreamed typing up stories before. But I'd never dreamed my way _into_ the story.

_First time for everything, I guess._

Then I looked at the start time. Today. Seven thirty.

"Okay," I said out loud. "Time to shape up or ship out. Do I treat this as a dream, and see how weird it can get, or do I act like I'm in the story, and do my best to help Taylor out?"

Put that way, I didn't really have a choice. There were people in Worm that I really thought got a bad deal out of things. Taylor was first in line, of course, but there were others. And if I could help them, even in a dream, that would make for an awesome story to write once I woke up.

_Shape up it is, then._

=/=

Ten minutes later, I was uniforming up. There was far more paraphernalia than I was used to; pepper spray, stun gun, cuffs ... Christ, was I going into a war zone, or a high school?

Then I remembered Winslow from the story. _Oh, right. Yeah._

The scariest bit was putting on the stab vest. _People get shanked at Winslow._

_Fucking __**awesome**__._

I made damn sure that stab vest was properly secured.

=/=

The other thing on the fridge was a letter. It informed me that I was starting at Winslow on April the eighth, of the year two thousand and eleven.

Which, my watch assured me, was today.

_April eight. April eight._ That date nagged at me. It was significant, somehow.

I'd figure it out later. I left the apartment.

=/=

As I rode the early-morning bus through Brockton Bay, I had to admire the sheer attention to detail that my subconscious was capable of. I recognised landmarks I'd read about within the story, but only by context; the buildings looked nothing like I'd envisaged them, nor even like the cover photo on the story.

It had taken me a bit to figure out the bus lines, but I worked it out eventually. I found Winslow on the map, and located the right bus line. It looked like I was on time for a seven thirty start.

I hated being late for work, even in a dream.

As I settled back into my seat, I pondered the meaning of the date. April eight. It meant something, I was sure ... but what? There was something that I was missing.

* * *

I was interrupted in my reverie by a collective gasp from the others in the bus. Looking up, I saw a slender white-clad feminine form whip by; I had just enough time to register blonde hair and a fluttering skirt before she was gone.

This dream involved superheroes. Somehow I had temporarily forgotten that.

"Was that _Glory Girl?"_ I asked the guy next to me.

"Sure was," he confirmed, then looked at me oddly. "You're acting like you've never seen her before."

"New in town," I said hastily. "Seeing her on the news is different to seeing her for real."

"I guess," he agreed, then he offered his hand. "Gerry's the name. What brings you to the 'Bay?"

I shook it. He had calloused hands and a strong grip. "Michael. Work." Using two fingers, I tapped the patch on the sleeve of my uniform. "Babysitting kids at a high school." With a roll of my eyes, I added, "Joy."

He chuckled and slapped me on the shoulder. "Good luck. Tase the little bastards if they give you any trouble."

I grinned at him. "Two spare batteries. I came _prepared."_

He laughed out loud.

"So what do you do?" I asked, the ice now broken. It was in my best interests to find out as much as possible about Brockton Bay, or rather, the version of it that my dream was creating. Somewhere along the line, I realised, I had made the decision to treat everything as if it were real.

"Dock worker," he replied, and with his build I could believe it. "When there's work, of course."

"A bit slack at the moment, huh?" I asked, sympathy in my tone.

"Only for the last bloody ten years," he said morosely, and I heard the faintest trace of an Irish accent. "I mean, Hebert does his best, but when there's no work, there's no bloody work."

I nodded. "And that's God's honest truth," I agreed._That would be Danny Hebert. Taylor's dad._

_God, it's weird to hear his name in casual conversation. Like he's a real person._

"Man might as well get bloody work with a supervillain," Gerry groused. "At least _they're _hiring."

I raised an eyebrow. "Supervillains, huh?" I asked. "That pay well?"

He shrugged. "So I hear."

"Yeah," I replied. "But what's the dental plan like?" I mimed punching myself in the jaw.

He nodded ruefully. "Yeah, you got a point there," he agreed. "I might keep looking for legitimate work for a bit longer."

I looked up as the bus pulled to a stop. "Whoops, this is my stop," I said. "Good luck with finding work, Gerry. And hold out for that dental plan."

He got up to let me out into the aisle. "I'll do that, Mike. And watch your back with those rugrats."

I got off the bus and watched it drive away, then turned to walk into Winslow High School.

=/=

As I walked into the parking lot out front of the school, a woman about my age, skinny and with dirty blonde hair, came to meet me. Mentally I flicked through my file of descriptions of Winslow staff. It wasn't an exhaustive list; two women and two men had actually been described in the story. This woman fitted the basic description of the school principal.

"Ms Blackwell?" I asked as she approached me.

She nodded curtly. "You're Allen. The security guard."

"That's me," I agreed. I extended my hand, and after a moment, she shook it.

She looked me over critically. "I always thought you security guards came with equipment belts."

I nodded. "I arrived on the bus. I thought it would be better to carry my gear in my bag." I indicated the backpack I had over my shoulder. "Causes less problems that way."

"But you will be carrying it around the school," she observed.

"Yes, ma'am, I will," I agreed.

"Do you have a gun?" she asked. "Because we don't allow those in the school."

I shook my head. "I'm licensed to carry, of course, but I do know about that. So I didn't bring it."

"What do you have to defend yourself with then?" she asked sharply. She was definitely being antagonistic; I began to wonder if it had been such a good idea to write her like that. And then I wondered if she was like that because I had written her that way, or because that was the way I read her personality from the story.

"Pepper spray, a stun gun and a baton," I answered, pulling my belt out of the bag and buckling it on. "Also, cuffs, in case someone needs to be restrained for the police."

"You've been trained in the responsible use of all these?" she asked sharply.

"I have all the required licences," I responded. I hoped I did; it felt like the right answer.

"I hope so, for your sake," she said darkly. "If the school gets sued by anyone because of the way you treated their children, we _will_ be passing the costs on to you."

_And if that's not a way of saying "keep out of the way and don't cause waves", I don't know what is, _I thought.

"I prefer to talk before taking physical action, ma'am," I said blandly. "I also carry a voice recorder. So if there's any dispute about what was said when, it can be settled on the spot."

She gave me a hard stare, but did not seem to be able to think of any more objections. "Hmm," she said. "Well, I'll get you set up. Most of the faculty should be in by now."

=/=

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced Principal Blackwell. "I would like you to meet our new security guard, Mr Allen." She introduced the faculty, and I did my best to remember the names. I shook hands where offered, nodded and smiled where not.

Quinlan I picked out by eye, Gladly and Mrs Knott I did not. Once again, their faces were at odds with what I had envisaged. Gladly grinned broadly as he shook my hand, trying for the 'good old boy' vibe. Quinlan had a handshake like a wet fish, with a faint tremor. Mrs Knott shook my hand like a man, with a nice firm grip, but not overdoing it like Gladly.

I cleared my throat; everyone quieted.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," I said. "I won't remember all your names at first, but give me a few days and I'll know you." I looked around at the group. "This is my first time working at a school like this, and I'm probably your first experience of a school security officer, so I'm willing to work at it until we reach an understanding. I don't want to go stepping on any toes." I paused. "Thank you."

There was a general murmur that I took for agreement; I turned to Principal Blackwell.

"Is there anything else we need to do before I start?" I asked her.

She frowned. "Not that I can think of. If there's nothing else …" Turning on her heel, she walked out of the room, heading for her office.

I followed along, waiting until she paused at her office door. "Do I get master keys?" I knew I did; it was specified in the letter on my fridge.

She frowned more deeply. "I'm not sure about that …"

"Do you _have_ master keys?" I pressed as she unlocked the door.

"Yes, but they're generally spares for the janitor …"

"And now _I_ need them," I pointed out. "If I need to go find the janitor every time I have to investigate some strange occurrence, this will drastically reduce my ability to do my job."

"Fine," she snapped. Entering the office, she reached into a drawer and almost threw me a bunch of keys. Most were unlabelled; I guessed that this was because the janitor knew them all.

"Sign out book?" I prompted.

Grudgingly, she pulled a book from the drawer, and I signed the keys into my custody. Then I hooked them on to my belt.

"Thank you, Principal Blackwell," I said politely. "I'll get out of your hair now."

I didn't quite catch her reply, but I don't think it was very polite. I exited her office, carefully closing the door behind me.

=/=

My first order of business was to get the layout of the school. It was all one building, with multiple levels, so I was understandably concerned about being able to find my way around. Worse, they hadn't supplied me with a map of the school, so I was forced to use dead reckoning.

Turning a corridor, making a bet with myself that the cafeteria lay ahead, I encountered Mr Gladly. He smiled broadly when he saw me.

"Allen, right?" he asked. "Got a first name?"

"It's Michael," I told him. "But if you don't mind, I'd prefer to use Allen. That way, we don't send the kids the wrong message."

"Hey," he said. "I just tell 'em to call me Mr G. They eat it up. A teacher they can relate to, you know? They love me."

_I know one that doesn't,_ I thought but didn't say. And I had to say that his attitude was starting to grate on me a little as well.

"Not in this job to be liked," I said, but with a half-smile to take the sting out of it. "I just want to do it right, make sure everyone gets home at the end of the day."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, chill, man," he said, raising his eyebrows. "You always this intense?"

I looked at him curiously, head tilted to one side. "I don't see it as intensity," I told him. "I see it as choosing to do the job right the first time, every time. I've been doing this for ten years. I've seen it done badly. Sometimes I've screwed up. But I've seen it done well, too. I prefer to get it right." I paused. "Actually, you can help me out here."

"Yeah?" he asked, his enthusiasm back. "Trouble finding your way around?"

"A little," I admitted, "but I'm getting there. What I'm after is the names of any trouble students. People I'd be advised to keep an eye on. People getting bullied, might need an eye kept on them, make sure people aren't making trouble for them. Places where trouble usually starts. Things like that. You've been here longer than I have; you'd have a better idea than me, right?"

I didn't miss the wary look in his eye.

"Huh," he said. "You know, I'd have to go to the principal before I gave you the names of any 'troublemakers'," he gave the word air quotes, "but I guess I can point you out a few people, once classes start."

I nodded. "Anything that would be useful, I'd appreciate." I paused, giving him room to say something, but he didn't bite.

"Well," he said, "I'd better get my classroom ready for the first class. The kids will be showing up any time now."

"Just one more thing," I said, following him down the hall. "I read about an incident this January. Someone got locked in a locker?"

He quickened his pace. "We dealt with that matter," he said over his shoulder. "It's over and done."

"Ah, so the guilty parties were caught and punished?" I asked, moving faster myself.

"You'll have to talk to the principal about that," he said, almost breaking into a run.

I slowed to a walk, watching him hurry away.

_Interesting, _I thought. _He knows they failed her. Knows they're still failing her. But he doesn't want to face up to it._

It was something to think about.

=/=

The students arrived in dribs and drabs as their parents dropped them off, and in large groups as the buses arrived and departed. I managed to find my way back to the front of the building, and watched them arrive. There were quite a few startled glances my way, and I nodded to those who made eye contact with me, but no-one spoke to me, and I didn't talk either.

It wasn't hard to pick out Emma Barnes and her coterie; red haired, striking good looks, and a figure that did not belong on a fifteen year old. Madison was several inches shorter, rather petite, and cute in a way that had appealed to me in my younger years. Sophia was slender and slightly above average height, with black hair and dark skin.

She was also the first 'cape' I had encountered since this whole episode started; I wasn't counting the sighting of Glory Girl. It was intriguing; looking at her, I saw an athletic fifteen year old. But she was also a superhero, of sorts.

I took care not to stare at her, moving past the trio, nodding to Emma when her eyes met mine, I kept my eyes front. Which was a good thing, because a tall skinny girl stumbled into my path; if I hadn't been looking, I would have knocked her over.

"Whoops," I said, propping on the spot. "Sorry."

"My fault," she muttered, and ducked past me. She was carrying a heavy-looking bag, and she didn't go to a locker, unlike everyone else there. I had a momentary impression of round-lensed glasses, long dark curly hair …

_Holy shit, _I thought. _That was her. Taylor Hebert. I just met Taylor Hebert._

* * *

I wanted to go after her, tell her that she had a friend in this school. Tell her that there was someone on her side now.

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

I had a job to do here, at Winslow. Duties to perform. And taking care of Taylor Hebert, helping her, was only a small part of that job. A very _important_ part, yes. But still only a small part.

Taking a deep breath, I went about my rounds.

But my thoughts did not stray far from Taylor Hebert.

I was sure that we would meet again.

* * *

End of Introduction


	2. Chapter 2

**Security!**

* * *

Part Two: First Interaction

* * *

I left the cacophony of banging locker doors behind me, and proceeded down the hallway. Taylor's home room doubled as one of the classrooms for computer studies; I had already located it, but I didn't go that way. The very last thing I wanted was to make Taylor think I was stalking her in any way.

It wasn't just that she was only fifteen, and had severe trust and control issues; I also had no desire to get on the bad side of the girl with bug control powers. The rest of the world would learn, sooner or later, that bug control was a power to be reckoned with; I was already fully aware of this fact.

So instead I started patrolling the school corridors, checking fire doors to make sure no-one had wedged them open or shut, looking into fire extinguisher closets to ensure that they still contained the extinguishers, and in general improving my grasp of the layout of the place. The bell went for home room, and I heard the thunder of teenage feet as they went their separate ways. I continued my rounds.

It wasn't until well after the first period bell had rung that I realised the significance of the date. It wasn't some obscure American holiday. It was the date that the story started.

_I'm here at the beginning. This is the day she makes the decision to go out in costume, rather than wait until the break. Though she doesn't actually __**go** __out till Sunday._

The realisation sent a rush of heady excitement through me. I also recalled what was due to happen here at school, and when and where. _Girls' bathrooms, third floor, lunch period. Lunch period starts at eleven forty-five._ I checked my watch. _Nine thirty. First period's half done._

I found the stairwell and went up it. Second floor. My work boots echoed in the empty corridors as I continued my rounds. Steady pace, not too fast, not too slow. I didn't want to tire myself out, but I did want to cover ground.

=/=/=

The bell for second period went when I figured I'd just about covered the second floor; I stepped into a corner and waited for the surging tide of kids to abate. Some of these obviously hadn't seen me when they came in, and I received my share of curious glances.

One youth with Asian features approached me; I hadn't missed the nudges and whispers between himself and his friends before he came over.

"Can I help you?" I asked politely.

"You security?" he asked me bluntly.

I raised an eyebrow, pretended to check the patch on my sleeve, then nodded. "That's what the uniform says."

"Yeah well, the ones you gotta look out for is the ones with the shaved heads, you got it?" he said. "Empire Eighty-Eight. They're the troublemakers around here."

I nodded politely. "I'll keep that in mind," I replied noncommittally.

"You do that," he said, moving back to the group of his friends. They headed off down the hallway, laughing and joking and glancing back at me occasionally. I didn't watch them go directly, but I did keep them them in my peripheral vision. Watching a crowd go past, it's better to defocus the eyes and let patterns spring out, rather than trying to look at every single person individually.

I hadn't missed the fact that the boy who approached me, and his friends, had been wearing red and green. Gang colours. The colours of the Azn Bad Boys. Or Boyz, even. It had been a fairly blatant ploy to set me looking for Empire Eighty-Eight recruits instead of the ABB.

Standing there, observing the crowd going past, I did not miss that the ABB contingent passed by some of those very same skinheads. There was a little posturing, a little flexing, and I turned my head that way, my expression one of polite interest. I wasn't sure if they noticed me watching, but the ABB youths moved on, and the skinheads headed off in their own direction.

I made mental notes, and continued on my rounds.

=/=/=

It took me most of second period to finish looking around the second floor, and make it to the third floor. The floor plan tended to repeat itself, so I was getting a good idea of which way the hallways were going to run. Of course, without a map of the school itself, I was having to find out what was where the hard way; go there and look.

_Note to self: get a fire plan of the school, and fill it in myself if I have to._

But I did find the third floor girls' bathrooms.

No-one seemed to be around. I pushed the door slightly; it gave, swinging in, with a little resistance. Spring-loaded. Once I pushed it open a little farther, I was in a short corridor with another door at the other end. I nodded; public washrooms the world over had the same setup.

"Security!" I called. I heard my voice echo hollowly.

There was no answering shout from within, so I pushed open the inner door, letting the outer one swing shut.

A typical toilet and sink arrangement; six stalls down the left, a row of sinks down the right. A scratched and stained mirror over the sinks. None of the stalls were locked; I took hold of the closest door and tried to push it inward. Nothing happened. I pulled it outward. It opened easily.

I frowned. This was how it had read in the story, but why would they have the stalls set up this way?

The only reason I could think of was incompetent workmen, and official apathy. My frown deepened. _If this had been done right ..._

Thinking hard, I let myself out of the restroom, and went on my way. I still had most of the third period to go.

In Winslow, I had learned, the class periods ran for fifty minutes, with a five-minute block of time between in order to allow them to get from one class to another. Home room had started at eight forty-five, and the bell had rung for first period at nine sharp. Class started at nine oh five, second period at ten, and so on.

I knew that lunch hour started at eleven forty-five, and that Taylor would go immediately to that bathroom to sit and eat her lunch in peace. Emma and her friends would come in shortly after, and carry out their cruel prank. But I didn't know exactly _when._ It was a problem.

I mulled it over as I made my way back down to the first floor, to the staff break room. It was barely twenty past eleven when I got there, and went to the fridge for my lunch bag. I'd made some sandwiches and put in a juice popper as well. I don't usually drink juice poppers, but apparently the me in this dream did.

Mrs Knott, from Taylor's home room, strolled in when I was halfway through my sandwich.

"Mr Allen," she greeted me cordially. "How are you finding Winslow?"

I finished chewing, swallowed, and smiled at her.

"It's interesting," I allowed. "I see the gang activity is pretty intense. Do you get actual fights in the school?"

She nodded. "I've heard of it happening," she said. "Never seen it, though. It's usually between the skinheads and the ABB."

I raised an eyebrow as I popped the straw into my juice. "The Merchants don't get into it?"

She snorted, an unladylike sound. I decided that I liked her. "The stoners? No, all they want to do is sit around and get high."

I nodded. "Drugs aside, I suppose that's a blessing." I paused. "Any other troublemakers in the school? People being bullied? Anything I should watch out for?"

She looked suddenly troubled. I thought I knew why, too.

_I__'__m an outsider. She sees stuff, and also sees that no-one seems to care about doing something about it. She doesn__'__t know if she can trust me or not. Scared of what might happen if she talks to me._

Checking my watch, I finished the popper and tossed it into the bin. My sandwich wrapper followed, then I stood and brushed myself off. "I'll level with you. I overheard a couple of girls talking about a prank that was going to go off in the third floor girls' bathroom. If I'm going to nip this in the bud, I'm going to need a witness." I looked her in the eye. "Can you help me?"

She only hesitated for a moment. "I'm in."

I smiled. "Excellent."

=/=/=

I checked my watch. It was eleven forty. _Five minutes till go time._ And I still didn't know exactly how I was going to handle it.

I cleared my throat and began to talk, just at the same time as Mrs Knott did.

We were sitting in a classroom down the hall from the stairwell; I had opened the classroom with my passkey, and we had each grabbed a chair to sit on. Mine was too narrow for my butt; Mrs Knott fitted into hers perfectly.

"Sorry," we said at the same moment.

I grinned and waved my hand in a go-on motion. "You go first."

She smiled and inclined her head slightly. "I was just about to ask you, how long have you been a security guard?"

"About ten years, more or less," I told her. "Ten years as a taxi driver before that."

"Those are very ... different ... jobs," she commented.

"Not as different as you'd think," I replied dryly. "You get to see the worst of the human condition, either way."

She nodded thoughtfully at that. "A very good point. What were you going to say?"

"Oh, it just seemed to me that a lot of the classrooms on this floor don't seem to be in regular use," I said. "Is that the case?"

She nodded. "More or less. They were going to put in more computer labs, but the funding fell through. So now they're basically spares until we can find something to do with them."

"Damn," I said. "That sucks. You teach computers, right?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "If the labs had gone through, we could be teaching a lot more advanced computer classes."

"And you'd be in charge of it all," I guessed.

"More or less," she agreed.

"Damn," I said again. "That _really_ sucks."

She shot me a slightly startled look, as if not expecting the sympathy. "Thanks, I guess," she said, with a faint smile.

I paused, trying to think about what else to say, and the bell went off to signal the end of third period. Both of us jumped, as if a gunshot had gone off.

"Right," I said, standing up and stretching my back, "let's do this thing."

=/=/=

"Are you sure that this is the right place?" asked Mrs Knott, as we strolled along the corridor toward the stairwell. Students were emerging from classrooms and heading downstairs toward the cafeteria; others were coming up the stairwell and heading toward the girls' bathrooms.

I recognised the back view of Taylor Hebert as she emerged from the stairwell and went toward the bathrooms; brown hoodie, long dark curly hair, "Yeah," I said. "I'm sure."

But here was my problem. If I stationed myself outside the bathrooms, the bullies would not bully, and no incident would happen. Mrs Knott would decide that I had wasted her time, and would be less receptive to my attempts to help Taylor out.

"We just need to hang back," I said. "Let them get into place. Catch them in the act."

"It sounds a little like entrapment to me," said Mrs Knott quietly.

"We're not _inviting_ them to do it," I pointed out. "We're just making sure we have the goods on them. Otherwise they get away scot free, and do it again when we're not looking."

She looked unconvinced, but nodded. "Okay," she said. "Five more minutes."

=/=/=

The time ticked by, interminably slowly. On my watch, the second hand was making its last slow revolution of the dial when three girls emerged from the stairwell.

"That's them," I said.

She peered around the corner, then stared at me. "But that's –"

"That's who we're waiting on," I told her. "Trust me on this."

She heaved a sigh. "Well, I might as well. We've wasted enough time on this foolishness already. What do we do now?"

"As soon as they go inside," I said, "we move."

Emma entered first, then Sophia, then Madison. The door banged behind them.

I started out at a steady walk, Mrs Knott beside me.

"I can't belive they're –" she began.

"You'll see," I said. "Just wait."

As we reached the door, I heard the explosion of laughter from inside. Reflexively, I reached into a pocket and flicked a switch.

_Fuck,_ I thought. _I'm too late to stop it. But not too late to catch them in the act._

"Stay back until I call you in," I said to Mrs Knott.

Not waiting to see if she did as she was told, I pushed open the outer door. She held it open as I went to the inner door. As I opened _that _door, I yelled, "Security!"

=/=/=

The laughter, which had been filling the room a moment ago, died to nothing in an instant. Emma Barnes, closest to me, and indeed arrested in the act of reaching for the door handle, froze in mid-step. Behind her, Sophia Hess froze also, but only momentarily. Her eyes began darting around the room, looking for a way out. Madison Clements, farthest back, simply stood there, eyes wide with shock.

"Well, now," I said. "What's going on in here?"

"What the fuck?" said Emma, recovering somewhat. "This is the girls' bathroom. You can't come in here!"

"Actually, yes I can," I said. "Security guard. I can go anywhere. Now. Once more from the top. What's going on in here? I smell spilled fruit juice."

The smell was pretty strong in the air, along with whatever soft drink they'd doused her with. A sickly sweet smell.

"We just had a little spill," said Sophia, stepping past Emma. "We're leaving now. Get out of my way."

"No," I said firmly, "no-one goes anywhere until I've found out what's going on."

At that moment, Taylor emerged from the toilet stall, wearing her backpack. She turned to stare at me. She looked … messy. Covered in juice stains, droplets on her glasses, stains on her pack.

"You can't _do_ that!" Emma protested, her voice rising slightly. "This is illegal detention."

"You're thinking of deprivation of liberty," I pointed out. "And no, it's actually not." I indicated Taylor with a nod. "You there. What happened to you?"

"Nothing happened to her!" snapped Sophia, taking a step forward. "Now let us out of here, you creepy old perv!"

"Not until she tells me what happened," I said. "Now, step back."

"Or what?" she said. "You'll make me step back? Touch me and I scream rape. You'll never work in a fucking school again. Fuck, you'll never work as a _security guard_ again. You ugly fat fuck."

"You'd do that?" I asked mildly. "You'd lie to ruin my reputation, just to get out of this?"

She laughed in my face. "You don't know who you're fucking dealing with, you piece of shit."

As she spoke, she came closer, intending to shove me out of the way. She simply didn't expect me to grab her wrist and apply an arm bar.

I knew she was strong and fit, for a fifteen year old. She had serious muscle. But when it came down to it, I was nearly three times her age and twice her weight. Put simply, I was bigger, stronger, and had more reach. And she didn't dare use her power to get loose.

"Christ fuck!" she screamed. "That fucking hurts!" It hurt because she was trying to twist out of the hold, and applying more pressure to the nerve points.

"Then step back, and stop trying to get past me," I said, reasonably, and let go, shoving her away from me. I looked past her. "You there. Come here, kid. What happened?"

The trio were too shocked, too stunned, at my manhandling of Sophia to prevent Taylor from approaching me.

"They trapped me in my stall and poured juice and soda over me," she said in a low tone of voice.

"Surely looks like they did," I replied. "You four are coming with me to the principal's office." I looked at Taylor. "Your name?"

"Taylor Hebert," she mumbled. "Am I in trouble?"

I shook my head. "No, Taylor, you are not in trouble. Did you do anything to provoke them?"

"No," she said. "I didn't. Are we really going to the principal's office?"

"Damn straight we are," I told her.

"Fuck off I'm going to the principal's office," snapped Sophia. "You fucking _laid hands_ on me. You're gonna fucking regret that. I'll tell everyone you grabbed my boob." There was a tearing sound as she ripped her top slightly. "I'll tell them you did that. You're fucking _gone."_

"I'll tell them he didn't," said Taylor, her voice stronger. "I'll tell them everything you've ever done to me."

"And you think they'll believe you, Hebert?" snapped Emma. "It's three against one, against the pervert security guard on his first day, and the weirdo loner. Who's going to believe you against us?"

I felt a tap on my shoulder, and moved aside for Mrs Knott.

"_I_ might," she said coolly.

=/=/=

"You're making a _big_ mistake," Emma said for the fifth time. "My dad's a lawyer, and he'll –"

"Yes, Miss Barnes, we all heard you the first few times," I said. "Your father's a lawyer. But he'll do _nothing._So kindly be quiet until we get to Principal Blackwell's office. You can talk all you want there."

We all trooped down the last flight of steps to the first floor, and Mrs Knott led the way toward the office. Emma followed her, with Sophia behind her, casting occasional poisonous glances back at me, and Madison behind her. Taylor walked alongside me.

"Want to call your parents?" I asked her quietly. "You can borrow my phone. Get clean clothes in."

She blinked at me; I had offered her alcohol wipes to clean her glasses off, for which she had been almost pathetically grateful. "If I could, thanks," she said quietly.

I nodded, and handed my phone over. She dialled and waited for an answer.

"Dad?" she said. "Yeah, it's me. I'm at school. Can you come and ... no, I'm not in trouble. Could you come and bring some clean clothes? Yeah, something happened, and ... I'll tell you when you get here. Thanks, Dad. Love you."

She handed the phone back with a half-smile. "Thanks, mister ...?"

"Allen," I supplied. "But you can call me Mike. I've been bullied myself. It's never fun, and I do not tolerate that crap in others."

She stared at me. I stand a shade over six feet in my work boots, and I weigh closer to three hundred pounds than two hundred. Much of that is admittedly fat, but I'm also broad in the shoulders and large in the arms. "How ...?" she began.

I grinned back at her. "Bullying takes different forms, Miss Hebert. There was a time I was being bullied in the workplace by other guards, who were spreading rumours about me. It's never fun, no matter what form it takes."

She nodded fervently. _"Everything's_ happened to me. Rumours, being shoved around, having my clothes wet or dirtied ..."

I nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, been there." I paused. "Do you have any, you know, documentation of what they've been doing?"

Her eyes opened wide. "Oh. Oh shit, I forgot. Can you – can I –"

I was already handing her my phone again. She dialled again, feverishly.

"Oh, Dad, yeah it's me again. Listen, in my closet, top shelf, there's a stack of papers. A bulldog clip holding them together. Can you get them for me please? It's really important." She paused. "Thanks. I'll see you soon." She ended the call and handed the phone back. "Thanks," she said to me. "Really. I would have been kicking myself when I remembered it."

I shrugged. "Eh," I said. "I've been where you are. And one of these days you'll be where I am. Kicking ass and taking names." I held out my fist to her, and after a moment's hesitation, she bumped it with hers, then grinned at me.

=/=/=

Predictably, Emma got to speak first. She wove a fine tale, with Sophia adding bits here and there, and Madison as the Greek chorus with "uh huh," and "yeah, that's what happened" when the narrative lagged. Taylor sat and steamed slowly, when she wasn't exclaiming with dismay over the state of the contents of her backpack.

"I can't _believe_ Principal Blackwell's listening to that crap!" she hissed to me.

Mrs Knott spoke up. "I don't believe that's what _actually_ happened," she said. "I was just outside, and I heard most of what went on –"

"But you didn't see it!" snapped Sophia. "You didn't _see_ him grab my breast, and tear my top!"

"I don't believe he did at all," Mrs Knott responded curtly.

"How can you say that?" Emma demanded. "You weren't _there!_ For all we know, you just came along just then, and you're backing _him_ up, just because he's an adult and a _security guard,"_ with a pitch and spin on those words that made them sound slightly less savoury than 'dung beetle'.

I had to admit, she put on a good performance. She looked ready to cry. Principal Blackwell was looking more and more sympathetic to her all the time.

"How about me?" put in Taylor. "Do I get a chance to speak?"

"Uh, of course, Miss Hebert," said the Principal. "What did you have to say?"

"That what they're saying is _lies,"_ Taylor said hotly. "Mr Allen came in, and asked them what was going on, and Sophia tried to push past him, and he pushed her away. He didn't feel her up. She told him to his face that she was going to say all this, to get him in trouble."

"She was in the toilet stall most of the time," said Emma dismissively. "She didn't see it either."

"Can we deal with the crap later?" I asked. "The situation here is that Taylor is being bullied, and the culprits are these three girls. I had overheard something, I asked Mrs Knott to come in on it."

Everyone turned to look at Mrs Knott. "He did," she confirmed. "And I am glad that he did so."

"As I came in," I continued, "the girls were laughing. Taylor came out of her stall covered in juice and soda as you see her now ... and they tried to get out of it. Taylor says they trapped her in the stall and poured their cold drinks over her from either side. I believe her. Mrs Knott?"

The teacher raised her head. "I believe her also," she stated firmly.

"Is it really such a big deal? It seems like a harmless prank –" began Blackwell.

Taylor half-rose in her seat; I gestured, and she sat down again.

"A case could be made for criminal assault," I stated firmly. "They poured _unknown substances_ over her, and some of it got in her eyes. It could have been poison. It could have been bodily fluids. Heck, juice and soda isn't actually good for the eyes anyway. She could suffer permanent damage from this. So yes, this actually is a big deal."

Principal Blackwell sighed and rose from her seat. "Mr Allen, could you please come with me for a moment?" she said. "We need to confer."

I nodded. "Certainly." I hid a smile; I knew exactly what she wanted to confer about.

=/=/=

In Principal Blackwell's rear office, with the door closed, she turned to me. "I didn't want to take this step, but there's something you should know."

"Indeed?" I asked. "And what is that something? The reason you're leaning over backward to give those girls every out you can?"

She glowered at me. "It's not by choice," she snapped. She opened a drawer and pulled out a form. I blinked. I didn't expect _that._

"Uh ... what's this?" I asked.

"A non-disclosure form," she informed me.

"Non-disclosure about what?" I asked.

"About the fact that Sophia Hess is a Ward," she told me tartly. "Now sign the damn form."

I raised an eyebrow, and signed. If anything, my signature as Michael Allen was messier than my real signature.

"And this changes what, exactly?" I asked, once she had the paper in hand.

"_Everything!"_ she snapped. "We get funding from the PRT just because Sophia is here. Her case officer drops by occasionally, to make sure she isn't getting into trouble. She can leave class whenever she needs to, so that she can carry out her duties as a Ward. We have a huge responsibility here."

"Uh huh," I said. "And you're falling down badly on it."

She stared at me, as if I had just slapped her in the face.

"You _honestly_ don't think that the PRT condones their Wards bullying other students, do you?" I asked. "Or the locker incident? If she was involved in that, and current form seems to indicate a strong possibility –"

"We don't know that for certain," she said hurriedly. "There is no proof linking Sophia Hess with ... that incident."

I snorted. "No witnesses willing to testify, you mean."

There was a tap on the door, just as she was mustering her rebuttal.

"What?" she called out.

"They're here," called Mrs Knott through the door.

"Who?" Principal Blackwell called back.

"Everyone."

=/=/=

Danny Hebert hugged his daughter, sticky clothes and all. Alan Barnes was talking seriously with Emma, with occasional glances my way. Madison's parents were there; they were both quite young. Sophia glowered as she spoke to the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman who had shown up to represent her.

Alan Barnes approached me. "My daughter says that you sexually assaulted her friend, Sophia Hess," he stated. His voice was firm and resonant; he would have a good courtroom presence. "If this is true, it means that we can discount anything you've got to say."

I nodded. "And if I can prove she's lying ...?"

He paused. "Are you calling my daughter a liar?"

I nodded. "And a bully. I have proof on both accounts. As well as Taylor's word on the matter."

"Well, we'll see how much that's worth," he said, and turned to go back to his daughter.

"Wait a minute, Alan," said Danny. "What do you mean by that? I thought we were friends here. I thought our _daughters_ were friends."

"Sorry, Danny," said Alan, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. "When it comes down to it, family comes first. I'll do anything I need to, to protect Emma."

He walked back to Emma, leaving Danny Hebert staring at his back.

=/=/=

We convened in the guidance counsellor's office. The scene was interesting; it was almost a match for what would have happened after the Weymouth incident, sixteen days hence. Taylor was freshly showered, and wearing the clothes that her father had brought from home. The three of us sat up at one end of the egg-shaped table, with Mrs Knott. Principal Blackwell sat down at the far end, with the others. Mr Gladly and Mr Quinlan had not been called in on this one.

As Blackwell murmured to Sophia's PRT handler, Taylor's father turned to me.

"I haven't thanked you yet," he said quietly. "Danny Hebert."

I shook his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, sir," I said, and I meant it. I knew more about him than he knew, and I liked it all.

"If we can begin," said Principal Blackwell. "I would like to –"

"What I want to know," butted in Sophia, "is why that perv hasn't been arrested yet for grabbing my breast!"

"We'll get to that," said Blackwell. "We need to address these bullying charges –"

"No, she's right," said Alan Barnes. "If he did molest Sophia, then he's a dangerous influence, and we need to ascertain the truth of that right now."

Blackwell nodded, not entirely reluctantly. "Mr Barnes raises a valid point."

"Horseshit!" snapped Danny Hebert. "Those two are just trying to divert attention from what happened to Taylor, and you know it."

"Language, Mr Hebert," said Blackwell severely. "We will address that concern now." She turned to Emma. "Did you see this incident?"

Emma nodded, staring me straight in the eye. "Yes, I did."

"Madison," she said next. "Did you see it?"

Madison nodded jerkily. "Yeah, I saw it," she confirmed.

"Taylor, did you see this happen?" asked Principal Blackwell.

Taylor shook her head violently. "He didn't do anything of the sort," she denied vehemently.

"She's lying," said Emma flatly.

"Well," said Blackwell, "it seems to be two to one ..."

"But he _didn't!"_ she repeated.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, if I may?" I asked.

Principal Blackwell looked at me as if I had just oozed out from under a rock. "Yes, Mr Allen?"

I pulled out my voice recorder and studied the display. I ran it back a little bit, then hit PLAY.

* * *

"_Nothing happened to her!"_ It was obviously Sophia's voice. _"Now let us out of here, you creepy old perv!"_

"_Not until she tells me what happened,"_ My voice. _"Now, step back."_

"_Or what?"_ Sophia again. _"You'll make me step back? Touch me and I scream rape. You'll never work in a fucking school again. Fuck, you'll never work as a __**security guard** __again. You ugly fat fuck."_ Principal Blackwell shot a glance at Sophia, whose face had turned remarkably pale. The recording rolled on.

"_You'd do that?"_ My voice on the recording was mild. _"You'd lie to ruin my reputation, just to get out of this?"_

The sound of her laughter. _"You don't know who you're fucking dealing with, you piece of shit."_

* * *

I hit STOP.

The silence in the room was deafening.

"I have it all," I remarked. "From go to whoa. Including where Sophia tears her own top, then tells me she's going to blame me for it."

"You _recorded_ us!" gasped Emma. "That's _illegal!_"

"If I wanted to present this in a court of law, I would have had to inform you, yes," I agreed, with a nod to Emma's father. "But for something like this, it's perfectly applicable." I shrugged. "And Principal Blackwell knew about it, so ..."

Principal Blackwell was, at that moment, looking as though she had forgotten, and was wishing that she had not.

"I _can_ play it all the way through," I suggested.

Emma and Sophia suddenly had very thoughtful looks on their faces. They were obviously recalling everything else they had said in the bathroom, to my face.

Alan looked at Emma, and she shook her head slightly.

"No, no, that won't be necessary at this point in time," he said easily. "We can take it as given that the accusations against you were a little ... overblown."

"In other words, false," I said flatly.

"If ... you say so, yes," he agreed. He paused, brow wrinkling. "Are you recording this meeting?"

"Why yes, yes I am," I agreed. I pulled out my second recorder, and placed it beside the first. "And thank you, by the way, for admitting that the accusations against me are false." I folded my hands. "Now, shall we get on?"

=/=/=

"But there's no _proof_ that they did all these things that Taylor is accusing them of, in these written notes," Alan Barnes pointed out.

"This is not a court of law, Alan," Danny retorted wearily. "We don't _need_ 'beyond reasonable doubt' here. We have absolute proof that your daughter, along with the other two mentioned in all these notes, performed an act of criminal assault on my daughter. We have witnesses. They did it once, they could easily have done it before now."

I sighed. We had done well to get this far, but Alan Barnes was proving remarkably tenacious. And with every go-around, Danny was getting closer to losing his temper, and Taylor wasn't looking too happy either.

I raised a finger. "If I may ...?" I ventured.

Alan Barnes glared at me. "What?" he asked.

"Five minute break. I'd like to speak to the lady." I indicated the woman who had come in to back up Sophia. Her head came up and she stared at me.

"Why?" she asked.

I raised an eyebrow. "For shame," I said. "And spoil the surprise?"

=/=/=

"Okay," she said, once we were out of the room and away from everyone else. "What do you want to say to me that you can't say to everyone else?"

"It's simple," I said. "I know that Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker. A Ward."

She stared, shocked.

"And I know that you're PRT, and your job is to make sure she doesn't get into trouble," I went on.

Her jaw fell a few more degrees.

"And finally, I know that you're pressuring the school to ignore what she does, so you can keep this cushy assignment," I concluded.

I could have slapped her on the face with a wet fish and gotten a less stunned response.

"So, here's the deal," I said. "Fold. Cave. Tell Alan Barnes to pull his head in. And I _don't_ call Director Piggot directly, and tell her everything that Sophia's been up to, including the locker incident, the flute, and, oh yes, the fact that she's still using lethal arrows in her crossbows."

She stared at me, obviously unable to take in most of what I was saying.

"The ... flute?" she said slowly.

"It belonged to Taylor Hebert," I said patiently. "She got it from her mother. Sophia stole it from her locker, and ruined it. Because she felt like it."

"I didn't know about that," she said. "How did you know about that? How do you know about _any_ of that?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Not the question you should be asking yourself," I pointed out.

She stared at me, unable to formulate a response. I sighed, pulled out my phone. Began to dial.

"Wait, wait," she said.

I paused, looked enquiringly at her.

"What sort of punishment should they get?"

I took a deep breath. "In-school suspension. Till the end of the semester. No privileges either. No dances, access to school events, computers, or even any spots on teams or clubs."

She stared at me. She was doing a lot of that. "That's two and a half _months!"_

I shrugged. "They were at it for two and a half years."

"That's impossible," she told me flatly.

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Sophia Hess had no contact with Taylor Hebert before two thousand and nine. She _can't_ have been involved in bullying her at any earlier date."

"Ah." I smiled tightly. "I've been working off of faulty data." _The eighteen month figure was correct. Seriously, could you have just gotten the details right?_ "But eighteen months still stands as a figure."

She nodded silently, compliant once more. "Sophia will have to be able to leave to carry out her duties," she pointed out.

"Sure," I said. "She can make up the time afterward."

I knew, as she did not, that Leviathan would attack before this time was half over. But the punishment had to be in place first.

"Why are you being so harsh about this?" she asked.

I looked her in the eye. "Because I don't like bullies," I said flatly.

She took a deep breath, subsided. "They won't like it," she said.

"Two of them will," I pointed out.

=/=/=

"You can't be _serious!"_ stormed Alan Barnes. "What did he _say_ to you?"

"That's between me and him," she snapped. "Now, those are the conditions. Principal Blackwell, given the obvious ongoing bullying campaign, I believe that this punishment is fair and just."

Blackwell looked at Barnes, then at Sophia's minder.

"Sophia is one of our best track stars," she said weakly.

I shook my head. "And so she gets extra privileges? No. She does the crime, she does the time. Just like everyone else."

"I agree," gritted Sophia's minder. "No privileges. No sports, no dances, no computers, no functions. In-school suspension until the end of the semester."

Sophia was staring at her in utter betrayal. Then she turned to stare at me. I affected not to notice, put away one voice recorder, then the other.

"Would I have to take summer classes?" Madison piped up.

"There would be remedial classes if we took that route, yes," the principal said. "It _would_ be a drain on our resources. And we're stretched thin as it is."

I smiled. "I'm sure you could get outside help." I turned to Sophia's minder. "You could volunteer, for instance."

She glowered at me. "I could do that, yes," she ground out.

"Well, that's settled, then. I'll, ah, be outside," I said blandly. "Oh, and by the way, Principal Blackwell? You may want to give Taylor the rest of the day off. She has suffered a fairly nasty bullying incident, after all. Just a suggestion."

Letting myself out, I closed the door behind me.

_Damn,_I thought. _But that felt __**good**._

=/=/=

The office door opened, and Alan Barnes emerged, with Madison's parents. He gestured for them to go on, and turned to me.

"You sorry sack of shit," he growled. "I'll make you regret the day you ever set foot in this school."

"Why, Mr Barnes, threats even," I replied with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you would have learned from your daughter's example."

"What do –" he began, then he paused. _"Fuck._ You recorded that?"

"Record_ing,_Mr Barnes," I corrected him, showing him the recorder with the little red LED glowing on it. "I think these long-life digital recorders are wonderful things, don't you? They take all the drama out of I-said-you-said. Nails down who said what. Now ... you were saying?"

But he was already stomping down the hall.

I looked around as the door opened again. It was Danny and Taylor, this time.

Before they could speak, I held up one finger. Carefully, I turned the recorder off, and put it away. Danny chuckled, and Taylor grinned.

=/=/=

"So she gave you the afternoon off?" I asked, as we strolled along the hallway toward the doors.

Taylor nodded. "She really did." She turned, and offered her hand. "I want to thank you, for everything you've done."

I shook it solemnly. "It was nothing that someone else shouldn't have done already," I told her.

"Yeah," said Danny, "but no-one else did." He shook my hand as well. "I really appreciate what you did for my daughter today. And I want to warn you ..."

I nodded. "Yeah, I gathered. Alan Barnes is a bad enemy. But if it comes down to doing the right thing, or covering my ass, I'd like to think I'd do the right thing."

"Well, if you lose your job here over this," he said, "come see me. I'm in charge of hiring at the Dockworkers' Association, and we can always do with a reliable night watchman."

I nodded. "I'll definitely do that," I grinned. "It's gotta be less stressful than riding herd on a school full of delinquent ratbags."

About to walk down the steps, Taylor turned toward me, one eyebrow raised. "Just one thing I'm curious about," she said. _"How _did you know they were going to do that to me?"

I paused in thought. "Let's just say ... I'm _really_ good at my job."

Danny slapped me on the arm. "And I'm damn glad to hear it," he said.

"Ah," I said. "Before you go."

They paused, looking at me questioningly.

"Taylor, I strongly suggest that you get hold of a voice recorder of your own before Monday," I said. "Keep it on you. Because you know they aren't going to give up. They'll just avoid doing it when I'm around."

Danny nodded. "What do you say, kiddo?" he asked.

She nodded firmly. "Thanks, Mr Allen," she said. "I'll do that."

"Hey, the name's Mike with my friends," I reminded her, and held out my fist.

She bumped it, and then she and her father walked away, down the steps. As they got into the car, she turned and waved. I waved back. They drove away.

I turned and walked back into the school.

_Back to work,_ I thought.

But I was already thinking about what I had to do next.

* * *

End of Part Two


	3. Chapter 3

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Three: Second Interaction

* * *

I headed back down the wide hallway, letting the doors swing shut behind me. In my mind, I was mulling over what I had just done.

I had used knowledge of the setting to do something that overturned canon. Taylor was not going to have the utterly crappy day that she would otherwise have had. Seeing the Trio get some level of comeuppance, as well as having the knowledge of all the bullying out in the open at last, had to be a weight off of her shoulders.

On Monday, she could come back into school, and the three main instigators would be undergoing in-school suspension. Placed into an empty classroom, observed by a teacher, they would undergo two and a half months of sheer boredom. They could study, yes. Read, yes. Attend classes or interact with the other students, no.

This did not mean that Taylor would be guaranteed a free pass as regarded the bullying; no doubt any one of the three could call up friends and cause other pranks to happen. But perhaps their enthusiasm would be dulled a little, knowing that the most popular girl in school, and her two friends, were suspended, and yet unable to leave the premises. The worst of both worlds.

In addition, if Taylor followed my advice and carried a voice recorder, she would be able to bring proof positive of any verbal bullying to me, or to a teacher. It kind of sucked that she had to do this in order to protect herself, but I had been forced to do much the same, once upon a time.

_But what,_ I asked myself, _does this mean to the story?_ I had not really believed, deep down, that I _could_ do anything to change matters; I'd just tried to do what I could for Taylor. And it had worked. Worked, if I admitted it to myself, far better than I had hoped.

And now I was just a little scared.

What consequences would this have? What would happen, out of my sight, out of my ability to control, to the storyline, to the narrative?

How would it change things?

I pulled myself up short. Did this even matter? If this was a dream, then whatever I did would vanish the moment I woke up, back in boring, mundane, Earth-without-a-designator.

And yet ...

What if this _wasn't_ a dream? Because it wasn't like any dream I had ever had before. Especially not like my previously experienced lucid dreams. Normally, in those, I tended to take control and give myself super-powers. Flight, mostly. Also, once I realised I was dreaming, I tended to wake up pretty quickly.

_Okay,_ I told myself, and realised that I had been subconsciously putting this moment off, in the urgency of wanting to do right by Taylor Hebert. _Lucid dream test number one. I can fly._

I took a deep breath. Looked down at my work boots; black, scuffed, steel toed, solid. They were planted firmly on the floor. I willed myself _up._

Absolutely nothing happened.

_Right. Maybe it's because I've been in the dream so long that the rules are set. Flight isn't an option. Okay. Test number two. Square a two-digit number between ten and ninety-nine._

I had found that no matter how lucid the dream felt, logic was hard to come by. Dreams worked off the less logical aspects of the brain; they were more about imagination and creativity than thinking in straight lines.

The squaring trick was a math shortcut I had learned years ago; it was easy to do. When you were awake, that is. In a dream, not so much.

_Seventy-six. Okay. Four nine three six plus eight four zero. Five … seven seven six._

I was unnerved by how easy it was. There was no stumbling, no reaching for numbers. I formulated the answer, checked it mentally. It worked out.

Which meant ...

Mentally, I reeled. Physically, I reached out and leaned against the wall for a moment.

_Holy Christ on a pogo stick. I'm really here. I'm really in Brockton Bay. In the Wormverse._

The geeky fanboy in me went _squee._

The rest of me went _oh shit._

_The world ends in two years._

_Fuck._

And then my reverie was interrupted; I looked up to see Principal Blackwell advancing upon me with intent.

"Mr Allen," she said curtly. "My office, if you please. I would like a word."

=/=

I was surprised to note that I actually welcomed the intrusion. It let me focus, get myself centred again. If this was my 'real world' now, for better or for worse, then I had to get my head in the game. And right now, right here, this _was_ my game.

I'd think about how I actually _got_ here later. As a fanfic writer, I could reel off a dozen theories. Most of which were probably flawed. So I'd leave it till later.

I followed the principal back to her office. She set a steady pace, heels clicking on the floor. I matched it, boots thumping.

She entered her office, and moved to sit behind her desk. I closed the door behind us, stood with my hands clasped behind my back. Waited for her to speak.

She took her time; for someone who wanted a word, it seemed to me, she wasn't being very talkative.

"Mr Allen," she said at last, a severe tone to her voice. "Do you know exactly how much trouble you have caused the school?"

"A certain amount," I admitted. "However …" I added, as she began to speak again.

"However?" she asked, brows furrowing.

"However," I said, "This could have been much worse. I stopped the bullying as a _school employee._ This makes you look better. If the bullying had come out another way, been reported from the outside, for instance," I went on, "it could have had a far greater impact on the good name of the school." I cleared my throat. "I had a look at some of those things that the girls apparently did to her. Even discounting the locker incident ..."

I saw her flinch. _Good._

"... there are incidences of her being pushed down stairs by Sophia Hess. Physically attacked. In small ways, of course, but all it takes is one miscalculation, and you have a student with a serious injury and absolutely no reason _not_ to have this school sued down to the bedrock. And Mr Hebert _does_ have a friend in the media. If _they_ got word of this bullying …"

She rallied. I had to admire her tenacity. "This isn't about the bullying. This is about you taking unilateral decisions that affect the school. Recruiting teachers for your little antics, bursting into the girls' bathrooms,_recording_ them without their permission ..."

"... nipping quite a nasty bullying incident in the bud," I carried on. "Performing my _job_, in fact. Carrying out the duties I was hired for." I raised an eyebrow. "So is it the fact that I didn't ask you for permission first, the fact that I caught the popular girls bullying someone, or the fact that Sophia Hess got in trouble that you have a problem with, Ms Blackwell?"

She took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and controlled. "When you perform activities like this in future, Mr Allen, you will clear it with me first."

I tilted my head slightly. "Clear it with you, as in let you know I'm doing it, or clear it with you as in ask permission first?"

She went to speak, then paused, eyeing me suspiciously. "Are you recording this conversation?"

I brought my hands out from behind my back. One held a voice recorder. The little red LED was glowing.

"Turn that off," she ordered.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Principal Blackwell, but I will have to respectfully decline that request."

"That wasn't a request," she snapped. "That was an _order!"_

"Indeed," I agreed. "All of your orders are legitimate, yes?"

"Of course they are!" she told me.

"So where is the problem with recording them?"

"Because I find it very off-putting to have someone recording my every word," she retorted.

"Doing so earlier may well have saved my career," I pointed out. "It's done so in the past. I prefer to be safe rather than sorry. So. My previous question stands. When you say to clear something with you, do you mean to merely let you know, or do I have to ask permission?"

She paused, a long moment. "You know, I could have you fired for insubordination," she said levelly. She wasn't rattled easily. I was impressed.

"You could," I agreed. "Of course, the school board would then be requesting my report, which will be backed up by my voice recordings." I folded my hands in front of me; in them, the voice recorder sat, the little LED glowing like a malevolent red eye.

"Report," she repeated hollowly.

"Report," I confirmed. "In copious detail. Including the toilet stall doors that only open outward, not inward, allowing this whole bullying incident to take place. Which should have been fixed years ago, but no-one seemed to know or care about them. " I paused. "I _could_ go on, but your time is valuable."

My tone was dead level, neither accusing nor gloating. Matter-of-fact. Simple, direct. No emotional content. I found it was the best way to apply pressure to someone. Don't give them something they can lash back at.

"_Fine,"_ she grated. "You need to tell me what you'll be doing, if you're doing anything out of the ordinary. Just to give me a heads-up. I do _not_ need this sort of surprise again."

I nodded. "That's fair," I agreed. "And I apologise for not doing it today. I will correct that in future."

She nodded, halfway mollified by my tone. It's hard to stay angry at someone who has just admitted fault. "You can go. We may talk again later."

I nodded. "Thank you, Ms Blackwell," I said. I turned and was reaching for the door-handle, when I paused.

"Actually," I said, turning back, "I just had an idea. Something that might just keep the Heberts off your back. Reduce the chance of bad publicity from this."

She looked up at me, a little startled. "Explain," she said.

"Suppose you offered to have Taylor transferred to Arcadia," I suggested. "Gets her out of Winslow, away from the girls who were bullying her. Reduces your level of hassle, and makes you look like the good guy. Taking her out of the problem situation."

Blackwell rubbed her chin. "I don't know," she said slowly. "Jurisdictional issues ..."

I spread my hands. "Once she's enrolled in Arcadia, she's out of your hair. No longer your problem. It's a win-win situation."

She nodded, brightening. "There is that." A pause. "It might take a couple of weeks for things to go through. Arcadia already has a waiting list through the roof."

I shrugged. "Hey, so long as you're seen to be doing _something."_

She glanced at me warily. I mustered my best sincere expression.

"Indeed," she said grudgingly. She waved at the door. "I will take your _suggestion_ under advisement. You can go."

I went.

=/=

I patrolled the school corridors. Between classes, students eyed me; somehow, by some arcane osmosis, the details of the lunchtime incident had reached many ears. No doubt it had been considerably altered in the telling, but they were eyeing me with what I hoped was wary respect.

No-one spoke to me this time, which was fine. I wasn't after the popularity. I just wanted to get the job done, and done right.

Besides, it gave me a chance to think. To plan.

Today was the eighth of April. On the tenth, the Sunday, Taylor was due to go out and encounter first Lung and then the Undersiders.

Would what I had done here in the school influence that?

I hoped not.

On the fourteenth, after joining the Undersiders, she would help rob a bank. In doing so, she would encounter ... ah.

I had to do something about that.

Also, there was the other thing that would happen that day.

I paced the corridors, working my way through things.

I couldn't plan too far ahead. But I could make _some_ plans.

_Here's hoping they survive contact with the enemy._

=/=

The last class ended. I watched as students dumped their books in their lockers, streamed out of the school. And the monotonous patrol began, checking all the rooms, all the bathrooms. Making sure no-one was hiding away to perform mischief over the weekend.

No-one was; I went back to the staff room, to finish my last sandwich, and to have a moment of peace and quiet before setting out again.

To my surprise, Mrs Knott looked in, and came in once she saw me.

"Mr Allen," she said with a half-smile. "You certainly put the cat among the pigeons on your first day."

I chuckled. "I suppose I did." Standing up, I offered my hand. "Thanks for backing me up. It was really appreciated."

She shook; her grip was firm, decisive. "I must admit, I had my doubts, but you seemed to know your business. And I would not have picked those girls as bullies. But the language from the Hess girl ..." She shook her head.

I shrugged. "They do it once, and they get away with it. So they do it again. It becomes a habit."

She nodded. "I see what you mean. But I am glad that you managed to help Taylor. She's in my home room class, and she's a delight to teach. Always attentive, does her work on time." A frown. "A real pity, what was done to her."

"Yeah," I said flatly. "Been there. Not about to let it happen to someone else."

"I see," she said understandingly. She put her hand on my arm; I blinked. "If you ever want to get coffee sometime, talk about it," she said softly, "all you have to do is ask."

I blinked again. _This_ was not something I had anticipated. "Uh ... isn't there a _Mr_ Knott?" I asked. "I don't want to tread on anyone's toes, here."

She chuckled dryly. "He traded me in on a younger model, I'm afraid. We kept the divorce quiet." She raised an eyebrow. "Is this a problem?"

"I ..." I cleared my throat. "No, no. It's not. I'll talk to you sometime. About coffee."

"That would be nice," she said, and smiled. She had a sweet smile. We exchanged contact information and she let herself out; I sat again, staring at the opposite wall.

_Mrs Knott. I don't even know what to think about that._

=/=

I greeted the cleaners as they came in. Chatted with them for a while. I get along well with cleaners; they do a rough job, cleaning up after people who have no concept of cleanliness. They were interested to find that Winslow now had a security guard.

I told them about the fruit juice and soda spill in the third floor girls' bathrooms, and the basic details about what had happened. They expressed satisfaction that the culprits had been caught.

"Thanks for letting us know about it," said the boss, a nuggety little woman who had to be ten years my senior, and lugging around a back-mounted vacuum cleaner that looked like it weighed half what she did. "We'll sort that out first off." She lifted her chin slightly. "Any graffiti?"

"None that I saw," I admitted. "I might have missed something, though."

"A Friday without graffiti," said one of the others, a blonde girl about half my age. "Wonders will never cease."

"Might have had something to do with the interfering bugger in a security uniform walking around poking his nose into everything," I suggested lightly. There were general chuckles.

"Anyway," I said, "I'll let you get on." They began to sort out their gear, and I strolled on.

=/=

At five on the dot, I signed out, and signed the keys back into the book in Blackwell's desk. She had left half an hour earlier, so I let myself in, signed the book, and dropped the keys on to the hook she had taken them from. The door locked behind me as I pulled it to.

I walked down the long echoing corridors, past the rows of lockers, and out through the doors to the parking lot. The sun was still up; I slung my bag over my shoulder and strolled down to the bus stop.

I had more time to think on the bus ride back to my apartment. The bus was crowded with commuters in rumpled suits and ties, who chatted to each other, and tended to ignore me. This suited me; I sat in a pool of silence, and looked out the window at the skyline.

I had a huge responsibility to this world. I _knew_ things. Things that no-one else knew. Game changers. Things that people _needed_ to know.

The one big trouble, as I saw it, was that I was a nobody. A cipher. I had no credibility. An overweight security guard, receding hair going grey, a relatively neatly trimmed – at the moment – vanDyke beard, also going grey. A dime a dozen.

I had to get their attention and hold it long enough to give them the information that they needed to know ... and I had to do it in such a way that I would not end up in an interrogation cell. Or dead. Dead was a distinct possibility. Especially in five weeks' time, when Leviathan hit Brockton Bay.

The city I was in.

I felt a cold chill go down my back. I hoped it wasn't some kind of premonition.

=/=

Back at the flat, I had more pressing problems to deal with. The first thing I did was change out of my uniform into something more comfortable. The second thing I did was check to see if the me that lived here had Christmas decorations stashed away anywhere.

Unfortunately, he was like me; nada.

It was getting on toward six. I had noticed a laptop that morning; I went to where it was sitting, and booted it up.

Once again, the tabs and folders were where I would have left them; I went online and looked for local late-opening variety stores. Then I found my car keys.

Just as I was about to head out the door, my mobile rang.

"Uh, hello?" I asked.

"_Mr Allen."_ It was a familiar voice. _"This is Danny Hebert."_

"Hello, Mr Hebert," I said. "How can I help you?"

"_Call me Danny, please,"_ he said.

"Only if you call me Mike," I riposted.

"_Sure thing, Mike,"_ he replied, readily enough. _"Listen, I got a phone call a while ago from Principal Blackwell. About Taylor transferring to Arcadia. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"_

_Well, damn, _I thought. _She went for it._

"I might have had something to do with suggesting it," I confirmed. "It was really just a half-assed idea."

"_Well, it's a half-assed idea that Taylor loves, and I'm thinking might just work out for us,"_Danny replied.

"Huh," I said. "Well, good. I'm glad."

"_So yeah,"_ said Danny. _"We're having a little bit of a celebration tomorrow night. Cook up some steaks, invite people over. I'm having people from work come in. And I'd like to invite you, if you don't mind. Given your part in all this."_ He paused. _"Unless you've got plans, of course. If you've got plans, it's fine. We'll understand."_

I paused, for the longest time. What the _hell_ was I supposed to answer to that?

"_Mike?"_asked Danny. _"You there?"_

"I'm here, Danny," I said, making a snap decision. "I'd be glad to come. Thanks."

"_Excellent,"_he said. _"Six o'clock."_

"Six it is," I agreed. "Uh ... I don't know your address."

He laughed, and told me. I wrote it down. "See you then," I said.

"_See you then,"_ he agreed, and hung up. I closed my phone.

_First Mrs Knott invites me for coffee, and now Danny Hebert is inviting me to a party at his house. A party I know for a fact they didn't have in canon._

_Christ, I'm stirring up __**swarms **__of butterflies._

But I couldn't worry about that, right at that moment. I had an hour and a half of daylight left. And I had shopping to do.

=/=

My vehicle of choice was apparently a two-wheel-drive pickup, not unlike the one I had been driving, in my former life, for over twenty years. There was a book of maps on the dashboard, just like the one I carried in my own car.

I thumbed through it, located the appropriate address. Worked out the route from where I lived to the variety store. Drove out the driveway, and promptly got lost.

I should have been there in ten minutes. It took me nearer to fifty. I was too used to knowing exactly where I was in the city at any time; the innate knowledge a taxi driver picks up stays with him long after he leaves the profession. I was used to that with my home town; this was not my home town.

At least my reflexes were working for the actual driving. I wasn't used to driving on the right, but apparently my body was, and so I didn't do anything embarrassing, like swing into oncoming traffic. I pulled into the parking lot, parked, and headed into the variety store.

=/=

They had exactly what I wanted, and for a ridiculously low price. I watched them bag my purchase up, then pulled out my wallet. There wasn't quite enough in cash to cover it, so I pulled out what had to be an eftpos card. Swiped it.

Now was the moment of truth; was Michael Allen like enough to me to have the same PIN for his cards?

I hit the four digits, then pressed ENTER.

The machine paused for the longest time ... and then printed out a receipt. I tried not to sag too obviously in relief.

The store clerk watched me pick up my purchase, and frowned in puzzlement.

I grinned at him. "I like to start decorating early," I explained.

"You certainly do," he agreed. "What are you going to need all that for?"

"A really, really big tree," I said cheerfully.

As I left the store, he was shaking his head.

=/=

Back in the car, I checked the map again, figured out what I'd done wrong, and got back to the apartment in under fifteen minutes. Then I went through my purchases.

Heavy duty adhesive cable guides, check. Two large power boards, check. Half a dozen sets of Christmas lights, check. Half a dozen extension cords, check.

The first thing I did was plug in everything, connect it up, and make sure it all worked. One of the Christmas tree light sets had a dodgy plug, with plastic flash still adhering; using my pocket knife, I trimmed it a little, and plugged it in again. It worked fine the second time. With the Christmas tree lights spread out over the living room floor, the place looked bizarrely festive.

Then I started attaching cable guides, and feeding the extension cords and Christmas lights through them. Crossing back and forth over each window. Tacked up to the back of the front door, crossing back and forth again. No space, I hoped, that even a slender Shadow Stalker could ease her way through.

As I did each window, I turned it on. By the time I was finished, the place was ablaze with festive lights from all directions. I pulled the curtains; that cut it down quite a bit. Shutting the bedroom door also helped a lot.

When I was finished, I had one set of Christmas lights to spare. I coiled it loosely and put it to one side. I also located an accessory I had found useful from time to time, and plugged it in to charge.

I decided to pause for dinner. There were microwave meals in the fridge. I put one on to heat, then I sat down at the laptop again. A short search later, I had the number I was looking for. I stored it on my phone. Then I did another search. This got me an email address.

The microwave _ding_ed, and I got out the plate of chicken something. It was always chicken something, even if the meal didn't include chicken at all. I wondered if there was a gym nearby. Then I wondered if it would really matter.

While I ate, I worked out in my mind what I wanted to say. One message was going to be simple, direct, unambiguous. The other would involve talking to someone. And I really, really didn't want to push her away.

I finished the meal, tossed the plastic dish in the trash can. Rinsed the cutlery.

It wasn't hard to create a throwaway email address. Hotmail was good for that. I worked at the user name, until I had one with "security" in it, that didn't look too stupid.

Taking a deep breath, I composed the email.

* * *

_To Director Piggot, URGENT_

_Notes for your interest:_

_Leviathan will attack Brockton Bay on May 15, 2011._

_The Slaughterhouse Nine will arrive in the city shortly after._

_Jack Slash has two powers. The first one you know. The second is to anticipate what a powered opponent is about to do. So his ideal opponent is an armoured, trained mundane soldier._

_The Siberian is a projection created by William Manton. The projection cannot extend its immunity to Manton himself._

_More to come._

_Security._

* * *

I looked over the email. Thought about including a small preface, "this is why I am telling you this" or something similar. Decided against it.

Then I did add something else.

* * *

_PS: Please tell Ms Richter that I have information about the thief._

* * *

Then I looked over my shoulder. No doorways were opening into an otherworldly room. What I was doing apparently wasn't enough to get Cauldron's attention quite yet. This was a good thing.

I hit SEND. It would go to the PRT information line. Hopefully their automated systems would pick out the hot-button words that I had included, and kick it to the head of the queue. Even more hopefully, Dragon would interpret the last line correctly.

I leaned back in my chair and picked up my phone. My heart was beating faster now. I was starting to wade in very dangerous waters indeed.

I fiddled with my phone until I was fairly certain that my number would not show up on Caller ID. Then I called up the number that I had saved. Pressed the green button.

The phone rang. A male voice answered. _"Yamada household. Who is this?"_

"I'm very sorry to disturb you," I said, "but could I please speak to Doctor Jessica Yamada? It is a matter of urgency. It's to do with her work."

"_It's Friday evening,"_ he replied, sounding mildly irritated. _"How important is this?"_

I took a deep breath. "Please tell her it's about a potential A-class threat."

She was on the line moments later.

=/=

"Thank you, Doctor Yamada," I said, just a little after that. "I truly appreciate this. If we can pull this off, we'll be saving two people from a world of torment." I paused. "Sorry again for interrupting your Friday evening. Have a good night."

She sighed. _"I suppose my work never leaves me alone at the best of times. I will be waiting for your call."_

She hung up. I closed my phone. _God, I hope this works,_I told myself.

After that, there was nothing left to do but wait.

=/=

The human brain is not good at waiting. It's very hard to go a long period of time without having something to fixate on, and that can very quickly lead to a loss of concentration. However, after ten years of being a security guard, especially with long nights of static guard work, I had gotten used to it.

Besides, I was fairly certain that she wouldn't arrive too much after midnight.

She arrived at five minutes past one.

I had the lights off and the TV on, with the sound muted. All entries to the apartment were blocked, except through the front door; I had those Christmas lights turned off.

It was fairly dark in the flat; I was sitting on the sofa, across the room from the TV. The muted glow of the Christmas lights came through the curtains, but not enough to illuminate the room in any way.

I saw the smoky form pass through the door, reform on the inside. In the glow of the TV, I could see the crossbow in her hand. She looked dark, dangerous, intent on murder.

The _snk_ as I turned on the voice recorder was so minuscule as to be unheard at any normal time of day, but such was the stillness, the silence with which she was moving, that she heard it. Or perhaps she just sensed my presence on the sofa.

She turned toward me with a great cat's grace, the crossbow coming into line, pointing at my chest.

She could have pointed it at my face, with a much greater chance of hurting me, but there were two factors deciding against that. One was that she didn't know about my stab vest. The other was that I was wearing a white shirt under an open black jacket, and that my chest was basically a rectangle of fluorescent white against a black and grey background. So she aimed directly at that very tempting target.

"You," she snarled.

"Me," I agreed. "Can I help you?"

She seemed startled by this, then she laughed harshly. "Can you fucking help me. What the fuck is this? I'm going to fucking kill you, you fat fuck."

"Why?" I asked. "What did I ever do to you?"

"You fucked with me, asshole," she snarled, taking a step toward me, her aim dead steady. "It was none of your fucking business what I do to who, and you had to stick your nose in. You fucking got me in-school suspension. And they're gonna be looking hard at me, seeing if there's a way to boot me back to juvey without looking too bad."

"So your handler's not able to whitewash it this time, huh, Sophia?" I observed sympathetically.

"How the fuck did you know about that?" she demanded.

"I'm good at my job," I said mildly. "Anyway. Isn't murder a little bit over the top for what I did?"

Shadow Stalker drew a deep breath. _"I don't lose,"_ she gritted. "Not to disgusting old fat fucks like you. So you're gonna die in a tragic home invasion gone wrong, they're gonna find kiddie porn on your computer, then Emma's father is going to speak to the principal. You're shown up as a pedo freak, everything you've said and done is thrown out, the suspension is lifted, and life goes on. _I fucking win."_

"Really," I said.

"Yeah," she gritted. _"Really._ What are you gonna fuckin' do? I've got a crossbow pointed right at your fucking heart."

I didn't say a word; I just flicked the switch of the hand-held spotlight.

It was a very _useful_ accessory. Looking rather like a normal flashlight, it held a rechargeable wet-cell battery and could throw a beam two hundred yards. Fully charged, it had an output of ten million candlepower. At a range of ten yards, the impact of the beam was painful, and made it impossible to see virtually anything.

At a range of ten _feet_, the effect was that much more devastating.

Shadow Stalker screamed and threw up her arm to block the light. I came up off the sofa, the spotlight in my left hand, my extendable baton – already extended – in my right. She saw or heard something, and triggered the crossbow. I felt the thump, right in the middle of the plate over my heart.

My right arm came up, then brought the baton down toward her head. She must have spotted it; she went ghostlike.

Exactly as planned.

With my left hand, I tossed the spotlight, still switched on, _through_ her.

The wet-cell battery, still pouring power through that halogen bulb, encountered her shadowy form. She screamed and solidified, crumpling to the floor.

"That," I said, panting slightly.

=/=

Before long, I had her firmly secured with the last set of Christmas tree lights. As a final touch, I cuffed her hands behind her back. Stepping back, I admired the picture she made. She was certainly the most_festive _prisoner I had ever seen. Red and green lights blinked on and off around her body.

I was sitting on the sofa, with the lights on and the TV off, when she finally stirred and began to look around. I'm not sure how long she was awake before that, but I wasn't about to throw a glass of cold water in her face to wake her up.

I had her utility belt off, and I was examining the contents. Most of it I left in place, but I found her two phones, one old and scuffed, and one relatively new.

"Hey, leave my shit alone!" she shouted.

"It's all good," I said. "I'm leaving most of it alone. Like your arrows. So very interesting." I held up the phones. "Bringing your personal phone to work? Wow. What if someone got hold of it?"

"It's locked," she said sullenly.

"True," I said. "And to be honest, I can't get into it. But I bet some people could. The right sort of Tinker, for instance."

"Look," she said. "Just let me go. I won't go near you again. We can call it quits."

I shook my head regretfully. "Sorry, kid. I'd always be looking over my shoulder."

Getting up, I pulled her hood down over her head. Then I used her cloak to wrap around it, muffling her eyes and ears.

"Hey!" she yelled, barely audible. "Fuck you! What is this?"

"This," I said out loud, "is so that I can make phone calls without interruptions."

* * *

Sitting back on the sofa, I pulled out my own mobile and dialled a number. Three digits.

"_You have called nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?"_

"I've been attacked by a cape," I said clearly. "I would like the PRT and the Protectorate."

"_Putting you through to the PRT emergency line now. Do you need medical assistance?"_

"I'm good, thanks," I replied.

There was a series of clicks, then a new voice came on to the line, a woman.

"_You have reached the Parahuman Response Teams. Please state your name and the nature of your emergency."_

"My name is Michael Allen. I have been attacked in my own home by the Ward known as Shadow Stalker. Please send someone over to pick her up."

There was a long pause.

"_Sir, are you sure that you have the genuine Shadow Stalker in your home? It's possible that you have an imposter there."_

"Sure, it's possible," I said. "Ring her phone. I have it beside me. And no matter who it is, I _still_ want someone to come and take her off my hands. She's cluttering up my floor."

"_Sir, are you in any danger at the current moment? Say 'all good' if you are, and 'please help' if you are not."_

I grinned. This woman was on the ball. "Please help. I repeat, please help."

"_Understood, Mr Allen. Please hold."_

The hold music wasn't too bad, actually.

The next thing that happened was that Shadow Stalker's phone rang. I picked it up and put it to my other ear. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I could not resist. "You have reached Shadow Stalker's phone. She can't come to the phone right now. Can I take a message?"

The voice on the other end of the line was hard, firm, decisive. _"Who is this, and why do you have Shadow Stalker's phone?"_

I sighed. "My name is Michael Allen. I'm a security guard. Shadow Stalker broke into my home and tried to kill me. I have her tied up on my living room floor. Who do I have to call to come and take her away?"

"_Do not hang up,"_ he said. _"I am en route. Does either of you require medical assistance?"_

"Not that I know of, though she's taken a fairly nasty electric shock," I said. "She seems to have survived the experience reasonably well." I paused. "Uh … who is this?"

"_This is Armsmaster,"_ he replied.

=/=

Moments later, there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and there he stood. Over six feet tall in his armour, blue and silver, imposing, impressive.

Armsmaster.

Even though I knew how much of a dick he was going to be to Taylor, I could not help but feel intimidated, impressed, humbled.

"Hi," I said, holding out my hand. "Mike Allen."

He shook it, staring at me. "You do know you have an arrow sticking out of your chest."

I nodded. "She shot me with it. I thought it better to leave it in place. Evidence."

He didn't look particularly reassured, until I tapped my chest with my finger. "Stab vest. She hit the trauma plate. It didn't go all the way through."

"Ah." He stepped past me, toward the bound figure on my floor.

"Just by the way," I said. "I'm aware of her secret identity. I work at Winslow, and Principal Blackwell had me sign an NDA."

He looked back at me, nodded, then back down at Shadow Stalker. Crouching, he unwound the cape from around her head.

"About time, you cocksucking motherfucking –" she began, before she realised who it was she was talking to.

"And that's why I wrapped her head up," I commented dryly.

"I see," observed Armsmaster. He looked down at Shadow Stalker. "Would you mind explaining yourself?"

"Don't believe a fucking word he says!" she burst out. "He called me here, said he had a lead for me, and he tied me up and molested me!"

I cleared my throat. Armsmaster looked around at me. I handed him the voice recorder. He pressed the button to start it running.

**"**_**I don't lose,**__"_grated Shadow Stalker's voice from the speaker_. "Not to disgusting old fat fucks like you. So you're gonna die in a tragic home invasion gone wrong, they're gonna find kiddie porn on your computer, then Emma's father is going to speak to the principal. You're shown up as a pedo freak, everything you've said and done is thrown out, the suspension is lifted, and life goes on. _**_I fucking win."_**

He pressed the button to stop the recording, then looked down at Shadow Stalker.

"Second time she's tried the molesting angle today," I commented mildly. "Tried it earlier, when I caught her and two other girls bullying another girl, at school."

I had to pause, as Sophia went into a diatribe of monumental proportions, screaming invective of every nature at me, at voice recorders, at the profession of security guarding, and at the world in general. I was quite impressed by her command of profanity; I had to wonder where she'd gotten some of it from.

=/=

In the end, he took my statement, and made copies of my voice recordings, while we sat and waited for a PRT van to arrive. I was careful about my wording, only stating that I had clashed with Sophia over the bullying incident at the school, and that Principal Blackwell had informed me of Sophia's status as a Ward.

"And so you set a trap for her," he observed.

"It seemed like a sensible thing to do," I commented. "She didn't strike me as the sort of person to give up easily. And I'd rather not have to watch my back all the time."

"It was dangerous," he said. "She could have shot you."

"She _did_ shoot me," I pointed out. "I actually planned for that. My chest made a bigger and brighter target than my face."

He had taken pictures of the arrow from all directions, then pulled it from the stab vest. It took some pulling, as the force of the crossbow had wedged it hard into the trauma plate.

I paused. "So what happens now?"

"She will go before a disciplinary hearing," he said. "These new facts will be presented. I can't see it going well for her."

"Will I be needing to come in?" I asked.

"The Director might want to ask you some questions," he admitted. "But apart from that, no."

I nodded. "I'm good after five on weekdays, and before six tomorrow," I said.

"Noted," he replied, and got up from the chair he'd been sitting in.

* * *

Moments later, the living room seemed full of PRT soldiers; they accepted my handcuff keys, removing the cuffs before putting on a specialised set that no doubt incorporated electrical restraints. I pulled the plug on the Christmas lights, and told them to cut the cord off of her.

Shortly thereafter, she was marched out the door. I handed Armsmaster her utility belt and phones, he nodded and took possession of them.

"Uh .. one thing," I said. "You might want to have her private phone checked for incriminating texts to do with the bullying of one Taylor Hebert. Just a thought."

He nodded. "Thank you for the suggestion, Mr Allen. If we need anything else from you, we will be in touch."

I nodded. "I'm just glad I could be of help."

"One more thing," he said. "Mr Allen, do you have parahuman powers of any sort?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Just a standard baseline human. Why?"

"No reason," he said. "Thank you for your assistance."

He turned and strode off down the corridor. I closed the door, and locked it. And then, just for the hell of it, turned on the Christmas lights that decorated it.

* * *

That was when the shakes started.

For the next ten minutes, I strode from one end of the living room to the other, holding myself, shaking uncontrollably.

_Holy shit,_ I told myself. _Holy shit. Shadow Stalker and Armsmaster. In my flat. Right here. Holy shit._

If I was a drinking man, that would have been when I would have gotten thoroughly wasted. But I wasn't, and so I didn't. Instead, I took a hot shower. It helped me work through things.

=/=

When I came out, feeling much calmer, I decided that I'd go to bed. I'd been up far too long as it was. But when I went to shut my computer down, an email notification popped up.

Curious, I clicked on it.

The email had no name on the Sender line. It was blank.

In the message space, there was a single line of text.

_Hello, Mr Allen. We need to talk._

Something caught my eye; looking up, I noticed that the camera light was on.

I cleared my throat. It was suddenly very dry.

"Hello, Dragon," I said.

* * *

End of Part Three


	4. Chapter 4

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Four: Third Interaction

* * *

"Hello, Dragon," I said.

"_Hello, Mr Allen,"_ came the human-sounding voice over the laptop's speaker. _"Or should I call you Mike?"_

_Oh yeah, _I realised. _She's got my number. But I didn't intend to speak to her here and now, not with Saint listening in.. It's late; Saint might not be monitoring her activity. But then again, he might._

_I've got to do this right. Ugh._

On the downside, it was closer to two than to one. I had been up for far too long.

On the upside, the shower had revived me somewhat. I hastily improvised a plan.

"Sure, Mike will do," I said, and took a deep breath. "Look, it's nice to talk to you –" I blinked heavily, " – and all, but I have –" another deliberate blink, " – this thing I gotta take care of. There's a –" blink, " – problem with my sink. Some sort of leak." Blink.

I stretched and yawned. She didn't respond. The camera light stayed on. No, it didn't. It flickered, just once. A wink?

"_Ugh,"_ she replied. _"I really hate when that happens."_

"Yeah," I mumbled. "tell me about it." I rubbed my ear with my left hand, scratching my eye with my pinky at the same time. "Seeing as I'm not thinking," I said, then dropped my hand away, "too clearly at the moment, I might just go to bed. But could you do me a favour?"

I waited; after a moment, she responded. _"Yes."_ A deliberate pause. _"What's the favour?"_

I yawned again. "I wanna drop by and see Col and his Lady boss tomorrow, talk about some stuff that's bothering me. Figure you can drop them the word, ask them not to keep me talking too long? I got places to be."

"_Certainly,"_ she said. _"I'll pass that on."_

"Thanks, D," I said. "Ciao for now."

"_Good night, Mike,"_ she said. The camera light winked off; for good, this time.

I shut the laptop down, hoping like hell that Dragon had gotten my hastily-improvised code and that Saint had not.

Flicking off the lights, I went to bed.

=/=/=

_Saint reached for the coffee cup and frowned when he discovered that it was empty. Whoever that moron that Dragon had been talking to was, he'd yawned twice, and now Geoff was also yawning._

_He got up to go get fresh coffee. He yawned again._

_Dammit._

=/=/=

_Dragon mulled over the message._

_Exhaustive analysis of this mysterious Mr Allen's facial gestures and words had come up with the most likely meaning._

**_You have a leak. Saint has eyes and ears on you. I'm going to see Director Piggot and Armsmaster tomorrow and talk to them about my email; please ask them not to detain me._**

_Mr Allen seemed to know things that no-one could know. No Thinker in the world could predict an Endbringer attack, and yet he had cited date and location. He had also provided what was, if true, invaluable information on two of the most feared members of the Slaughterhouse Nine._

_He could be a charlatan, a delusional, a professional liar ... or he could be genuine._

_Whichever it was, his warning had been loud and clear. Far better to heed it, and be circumspect, than ignore it and chance that it might be true._

_Carefully, she began to compose two emails._

=/=/=

_Taylor woke up._

_She threw off the covers and bounced out of bed. It was a wonderful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. Dad had the radio on in the bathroom as he showered._

_She suspected that it would still be a wonderful day if it was pouring rain, with hailstones the size of grapefruit. The events of the previous day played through her mind once more; emerging from the toilet cubicle to see the security guard facing down the other three, asking her what had happened. Paying attention to her. Taking the matter to the principal. Lending her his phone to call Dad._

_She was grinning all over her face as she changed into her running gear, and trotted down the stairs. She had no idea how he had pulled it off, but just a few minutes' talking with the woman who had been supporting Sophia, and the deadlock with Mr Barnes had broken. In-school suspensions for all of them. And the option to transfer to Arcadia for herself. In her wildest daydreams, she had never imagined this might happen._

_Shutting the back door behind her, she let herself out the chain-link gate at the side of the house, and started on her run. She felt full of boundless energy. An adult, not her Dad, had stood up for her, had pushed hard for her, had helped her._

_Taylor decided that she respected Mr Allen all the more for his admission that he had been bullied, just like her. He knew what she was going through, and he had made the effort to put a stop to it._

_In a warm glow of happiness, she ran on._

=/=/=

_Director Emily Piggot sipped at her coffee as her desktop booted up. It churned through the usual security checks and scans – what she privately called its 'electronic Master/Stranger protocols' – before presenting the day's business._

_At the front of the queue were two emails; one was marked Priority by Dragon herself, while the other one was actually from Dragon._

_She opened the priority mail first. The "urgent" tag line made her snort; everything that crossed her desk was urgent to _**_someone._**

_And then she read the body of the mail. Halfway through, she registered what she was reading, and started again from the top. She read it twice all the way to the bottom, noting the single-word signature._

"_Security?" she said out loud._

_Setting aside the emails for a moment, she opened another window. Her nails rattled on the keys. Ten seconds later, she had her answer. There was no cape registered under that name._

_Frowning, sipping her coffee once more, she read through the mail once more. She would be inclined to dismiss it as a potential hoax, except that the writing was simple, precise, informative, and ... "If this is real ..." she muttered._

_Also, Dragon had marked it Priority. Which meant that there was possibly something to it. Or at least, Dragon thought so._

_The postscript was a little puzzling, of course. She had no idea who Ms Richter was, or who this thief was supposed to be; perhaps this was some sort of code phrase that Dragon had picked up on. She would have to ask, when she got the chance._

_She paged to the second mail. Her eyebrows hitched up as she read it._

_It was a request, simple on the surface, that a specific visitor to the PRT building be allowed to leave once his business was concluded._

_The question was, why would she __**not**__ allow someone to leave?_

_The answer was a mouse-click away; she went back to the first email._

_Dragon had not said as much, but the inference was plain; the visitor was going to be this mysterious "Security". And Dragon wanted him to be allowed to go free. Also, that Armsmaster be present for the meeting._

_She sat for a moment in thought. Then she picked up the phone, and dialled._

"_Colin?" she said. "Emily. I'm going to need you here today, I'm afraid. We have an unusual situation."_

_She paused. "Oh. She already contacted you. Well, I'll see you soon."_

_Putting the phone down, she read through the first email again, even though she could have quoted it word for word by now. "If this is real ..." she muttered again._

=/=/=

My alarm clock woke me at five thirty. I turned it off, rolled over and went back to sleep.

It was closer to nine when I stirred again. I opened my eyes, looked at the unfamiliar alarm clock, then at the poster on the wall.

_Oh, right. Not a dream._

It would have been kind of cool if I had woken up back in the real world during my 'dream' time, but that would have been too weird. Also, mentally exhausting.

The floor was freezing, so I shuffled my feet into the slippers for the trip to the toilet and then the shower. I was having to get used to the pervading chill; April in Brockton Bay, for all that it was approaching summer, was in no way as warm as what I was used to.

The shower served to wake me up somewhat. Dressed and eating breakfast, I thought over what I needed to do for the day. Hopefully, Dragon would have passed on my message to the Director. And I really_did_need to speak to those in authority.

I just hoped that I could pull off what I needed to pull off. I was preparing to juggle flaming chainsaws while riding a unicycle on a tightrope over the Grand Canyon in a high wind. One wrong word, one misstep, and I was doomed. The _world_ was doomed. What I knew, applied wrongly, could cause a metric shit-ton of damage. I _needed_ them on side.

I finished breakfast, went back into the bathroom. Found the electric clippers by asking myself 'where would I put them in this bathroom?'. Took my shirt off and gave myself a buzz-cut, level one, all over the scalp. Touched up my beard and moustache. Ran water over my head and splashed it on to my face, to get rid of loose hairs.

Then I put my shirt back on, and looked into the mirror. Looked myself in the eye.

I was delaying, and I knew it.

"Fuck it," I said out loud. "Let's get this show on the road."

On the way out, I checked my laptop, just on impulse.

A single email. No sender address. The message consisted of two words.

_Good luck._

I smiled involuntarily. If it wasn't for Saint, I would probably have chosen to go exclusively through Dragon. But ... I had to do this. I had to take the gamble. Throw the dice, see how they landed.

_Alea jacta est._

=/=/=

I didn't want to have to go through Saturday morning parking in the city centre, so I took the bus in.

It was still odd, travelling on a bus through a city I _knew_ to be fictional, and yet it was real, all at the same time. I stared out the window, drank in the sights. Tried to figure out what I was seeing. Was that a building that had been described? Was this something that Leviathan would destroy in his rampage?

I had the bus lines about sorted by now, and so I was counting the stops. Two stops before mine, I was relaxing in the seat when I heard a maternal voice say, "Come on, Dinah."

I looked around involuntarily. A man I didn't know. A woman I didn't know. A child I didn't know, maybe twelve years old. She had paused at my row. Looking straight at me with a serious expression, an_adult _expression. Gave me a very slight nod. Moved on with her parents. Got off the bus.

I sat, stunned, as the bus pulled out into traffic again.

_Was that Dinah _**_Alcott?_**

_Did she __**know**__ me?_

Or was it some random kid looking at some random stranger on the bus, and doing a random kid thing?

On balance, I hoped it was Dinah Alcott, and that she'd nodded because I was doing the right thing.

Because, to quote Clockblocker, the alternative _sucked._

=/=/=

The bus stop was directly in front of the PRT building. Of course it was. Tourist buses stopped here all the time. In fact, there was a fair number of tourists milling around right now. Some were entering the building, some were leaving.

I strode up to the doors; they opened to allow me entry.

It was cold out, so I wore a jacket and gloves. My freshly trimmed scalp felt the chill, but not as badly as it would had it been winter. I had visited America twice, each time during the winter, back in the real world. On one occasion, I had decided to get my hair cut down to about number two. When I had walked outside into below-freezing wind, it had felt like knives cutting into the top of my head. So I had my hood up as I walked into the lobby.

I felt rather than saw the four guards tense up slightly. I was large, heavy set, with sunglasses, a hooded jacket, and gloves. I stopped, pushed the hood back, unzipped the jacket, and tucked the shades into the top of my shirt. I wasn't sure if they had ranged retinal-scanners in the here and now, but I wasn't putting anything past Tinker tech. However, against such tech, sunglasses weren't likely to do much either.

Strolling up to the reception desk, I leaned on it with my elbows, and smiled at the receptionist. "Hi," I said. "I'm here to see the Director? Tell her I emailed her about it last night."

She frowned; it probably was not in her usual experience to have someone walk in off the street and request an audience with the Director. I noticed that her left hand was resting casually on the edge of the desk, right next to an inconspicuously placed smiley-face sticker. Unless I missed my guess, her hand was within inches of a duress button. If I was a crazy, the guards would get the message loud and clear, and then I would be experiencing the joys of containment foam at first hand.

I strongly suspected that it would stick to me a lot harder than it stuck to Hope.

She didn't press the button; instead, she tapped out something on her console, and murmured into her headset. It was a wide desk, and she kept her voice low; I thought I caught the words "- see the Director –" but I could have been wrong.

A casual glance around told me that all four PRT guards were watching me, or at least their heads were more or less facing me. She'd tipped them a low-level alert, and done so without me noticing. Maybe a foot button. I was impressed.

Her eyebrows went up fractionally as she got her answer. I gave her my full attention and my best I'm-harmless smile. It must have broken the ice slightly, because she gave me a half-smile back.

"If you will take lift two, sir, someone will meet you," she said.

"Uh ... which floor do I go to?" I asked. I knew, of course, that the Director's office was on the top floor, but there was no sense in letting anyone know that I actually knew that.

She smiled, a little more widely; she knew something that I didn't. "The lift will stop at the correct floor, sir," she told me.

"Ah, I see," I replied. I walked to the lift; as I approached, it opened, a complex interleaving of metal plates. Impressed, I blinked. As I stepped inside, one of the guards stepped in with me, making the motion seem utterly natural. He was one of the ones carrying containment foam.

The doors closed again. I was fascinated; I knew exactly why they did it that way – Tinker tech to impress the tourists – but it was still very, very cool. The elevator started upward.

"Hi," I said.

The guard said nothing.

I shrugged slightly. What did I expect? He was there to make sure I didn't cause trouble in the lift. Conversation was not in his list of duties.

I had to admit, though, having a conversation would have made me a _little_less apprehensive at the step I was about to take.

In any case, it would have been a short conversation; the lift reached its destination really, really quickly. I recalled the note about how it was supposed to negate inertia as well.

The doors interleaved open, and I stepped out. Three more PRT guards faced me, and the one who had escorted me in the lift stepped out behind me.

I very carefully kept my hands away from my body.

"Seriously, guys, I'm harmless," I said. "I just need to speak to Director Piggot."

"You're not from around here, are you, sir?" asked the guard in front of me. His voice echoed slightly inside his blank faceplate; it was actually how I had imagined Grue's voice would sound. It was also creepy as hell.

It wasn't the creepiness that sent a chill down my back. It was the question. _What do they know? **How** do they know?_ "Uh, not really," I managed.

"Thought so," the guard replied, with a note of satisfaction in his voice. "The Director's name is pronounced 'Pig-oh.'."

I blinked. _Ah. Something that never came up in the story. Then again, why would it? **They** all know how it's pronounced._ "Yeah, I've only ever seen it written down."

"Which makes us wonder what business you have with her," the guard, added, someone what more sharply.

_Am I finished before I've started?_ "I emailed her last night. Stuff she needs to know about. I'm here to talk to her about it. She knows I'm coming."

There was a long silence, broken by a faint mumbling sound. I realised that he was speaking on the radio. He seemed to return his attention to me. "Are you armed?"

"I have keys and a pocketknife in my right-hand pants pocket," I said clearly. "Wallet in my left pants pocket. A phone in my jacket pocket. I have nothing else that can be used as a weapon. I can take off my jacket if you wish."

He nodded; I reached up, pushed the jacket back off my shoulders, and shrugged out of it. The guard behind me caught it, held it up, checked it over. Pulled out the phone, looked it over, put it back.

"Clean," he reported. No – she. It was a woman behind that faceplate, although the armour would never have given it away. And it was official; the faceplates made any voice sound creepy.

"Take all items out of your pockets," said the first guard. I obeyed, retrieving my wallet and my keys and pocket knife. Under their instruction, I held these items out to the sides while they scanned me down with something that looked a little more intricate than the usual run of the mill metal detector wands I had used in my line of work.

"You can put it back now," said the first guard, once they had finished. I had been neither cuffed nor foamed, so I presumed I had passed the inspection. I replaced the items back in my pockets, and looked at them enquiringly. The female guard behind me handed me my jacket, and I slung it over my arm.

Then I looked back to see Armsmaster standing there. For a big man in a suit of light power armour, he could move really quietly; I hadn't heard him approaching.

"I'll take it from here," he told them. Then he looked more closely at me. "I know you," he said.

I nodded. "Yes," I admitted. "We met last night."

"Hmm," he said, and his lips compressed very slightly. I got the impression that he didn't like surprises; I was sure he was eyeing me suspiciously. "Is this about that?"

"Only tangentially," I replied honestly. I tried not to smile; virtually every Worm fanfic used Armsmaster's helmet-mounted lie detector as a plot device, and so it was basically impossible to forget. I was not going to lie to this man.

He dismissed the guards and escorted me down a corridor, past a somewhat startled-looking receptionist, and through a set of double doors. I was a pace to the side and behind him, which gave me the chance to admire the halberd that was clamped somehow on to the back of his armour. Retracted to six feet long, then folded over to fit on to his back, it was still an insanely awesome piece of technology. I wanted to hold it, just once. It was never going to happen, but I wanted to anyway.

Once a geek fanboy, always a geek fanboy.

I passed through the double doors, and into the office of Emily Piggot, Director of PRT East-North-East.

=/=/=

She rose as I entered. It was a bit of a shock to me; every description of her had described her as 'huge', 'bulky', 'obese', 'fatty'.

_I_ was bigger than she was.

Okay, so I was fairly large myself; Sophia's epithets directed at my weight had not been inaccurate. And she was a bit shorter than me, so the weight was more noticeable. But she wasn't the whale that some fics had made her out to be.

"Good morning," she greeted me. "You are the 'Security' who sent the email last night?"

I nodded, and swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "I am," I managed.

"His name is Michael Allen," supplied Armsmaster from behind me. "He was involved in the Shadow Stalker incident."

She sank into her chair again. "I recall it," she said. "You are a security guard at her school?"

"That's true," I agreed. "She objected to me catching her out badly in a bullying incident, and having her subjected to in-school suspension."

Director Piggot frowned. "So she invaded your home and shot you at point-blank range with a crossbow bolt. I wish I could say that seems out of character for her." She gestured at a chair. "Have a seat, Mr Allen."

"Thank you, Director," I said, taking a seat. Armsmaster did not sit; as far as I could tell, he was standing directly behind me. It was intimidating in the extreme; I was reasonably sure that this was deliberate.

"The report that Armsmaster submitted indicated that you were wearing a stab vest," she went on. "Do you usually wear a stab vest in your own home?"

I smiled slightly. "Only when I'm expecting to need one. My job occasionally has me dealing with people likely to want revenge for imagined slights. Sophia Hess struck me as one of those. And when Principal Blackwell revealed to me that she was in fact Shadow Stalker ..." I spread my hands.

Piggot nodded. "You set about protecting yourself. Laudable. But why didn't you just ask for protection?"

"Well, I couldn't, not from the police," I pointed out.

After a moment, she nodded, following my logic.

"And if I asked protection from the PRT or Protectorate, she would know. And simply hold off." I leaned forward slightly. "Director Piggot, I've dealt with bullies before. They don't give up, and they don't go away. They just wait till you don't have protection. So I let her think I didn't have protection."

"Hm," she observed, tightening her lips slightly. "I see. Well, enough about that. I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss Shadow Stalker."

"No. I came here to discuss what I was going to tell you, and when." My heart was beating faster now.

"About what?" she asked me.

I took a deep breath. "Everything."

"Mr Allen," she said tartly, "you had better start making sense. The email you sent me makes some very strong claims, and I would like some way to verify them before I act on them."

I nodded. "Sure, but first, I need to be sure that nothing is going out of this room. No-one is listening in, no electronic eavesdropping. I'm serious about this. Not even Dragon. _Especially_ not Dragon."

"Why not?" It was Armsmaster's voice, right behind me, low and deadly.

I ignored the chill that ran right down the back of my neck.

"Because it's best for her – best for everyone – that she not hear this." I twisted around to look at him. "Tell me I'm lying."

He stared at me, impassive behind his visor, for a long moment. Then he shook his head. "You're not lying." He nodded to Piggot. "Do it."

The Director lifted her phone, spoke a few words into it, in a tone too quiet for me to catch. Then she opened a clear plastic cover and pressed a red button on her desk.

The door locked with an audible _click_. Shudders dropped over the windows. A mild discordant hum filled the air.

"There," she said. "We're as sealed off as we're going to get."

"Good," I said. "What would you like first; proof that I know what I'm talking about, or more information?"

They both spoke at the same time; Piggot said, "Proof," while Armsmaster said, "Information."

I waited, silent. They stared at each other. Wordless communication passed between them. He nodded slightly. "Proof, then."

"Okay," I said. "Armsmaster. Colin Wallis. Your father held two jobs, your mother travelled. They split up while you were still fairly young. You were born around nineteen eighty or so; you triggered when you were about fifteen, sixteen. How am I doing?"

"You could have found all that out with research," he responded.

"Sure," I said. And in a way, I had. By reading and re-reading the story. "You've been careful not to form attachments, not to get into relationships, because it would hamper your ability to be a hero. You're proud of this. And yet, you're starting to have feelings for Dragon. You may not be admitting this, even to yourself, but it's true. And that's good, because she has feelings for you. You two will be very good for one another. You _need_ each other."

Piggot was staring at Armsmaster.

"Cold reading," he snapped. "Thinkers do it all the time."

"But I'm not a Thinker," I replied. "I'm not a cape at all. Tell me I'm lying."

"That's the second time you've said that," he said. "Why –"

"Because you have a lie detector built into your helmet," I interrupted. "And every statement I've made since I walked into this room has been truthful, hasn't it?"

He nodded, reluctantly. "It has," he confirmed.

"Right," I said. "Now for the fun ones. You're also working on a combat prediction whatsit, algorithm, for your suit computer. Lets you know how an opponent will fight, predict their moves. Also, a nanobranch system for a second halberd. It'll cut through anything, but heat and fire kills it."

Silence, apart from the discordant hum.

"How ... do you know that?" he managed at last.

"Because I _know_ stuff," I told him patiently. "Director Piggot, I know less about you, but I know a bit."

"Have a care, Mr Allen," she warned.

I raised an eyebrow. "I know your leg muscles have been screwed, and your kidneys nonexistent, ever since Nilbog's critters gnawed on you, back in two thousand and one. I also know that you dislike and distrust capes, ever since the ones you had at the time cut and run when the going got tough. And I know that you and a man called Thomas Calvert were the only two survivors of that particular charlie-foxtrot. Your callsign on that mission was 'Lady'." I paused. "And you've tested negative for the potential to trigger for powers."

She stared at me, her steel-grey eyes glinting dangerously.

"I _also_ know," I said, "that despite everything that's happened to you, you do the very best job you can as Director. And I have a potential solution for your health problems; it'll just take a week or two to organise. Save you from eight hours of hemodialysis every night."

Leaning back in the chair, I folded my hands over my stomach, trying to appear at ease. "So, do I pass?"

Once more, that wordless communication passed between the Director and the local head of the Protectorate. After a few moments, Piggot nodded. "You pass. For now."

I smiled without humour. "I guess it's the best I'll get for the moment." I turned to Armsmaster. "Okay, just so you know? That nanobranch setup and the combat prediction program? You're thinking of trying it out on an Endbringer. Leviathan's favourite for that, for obvious reasons. I've already told you that he's due to hit here on May the fifteenth. But I'll tell you here and now ... no. It won't work. It'll _look_ like it's working, it'll _feel_ like it's working ... but Leviathan _cheats_. Physics only works on him if and when he chooses to let it. And he'll sucker you all the way in, and then he'll rip your arm off and leave you to bleed to death."

I paused for a moment, to let him absorb that.

At long last, he nodded. "So noted," he growled. "Continue."

"Okay, something closer to the heart," I said. "Saint."

I saw him stiffen very slightly in reaction. "What about him?"

"His real name is Geoff Pellick," I said, and spelled it. "Two close associates that I know of; Margaret, last name not known. He's in a personal relationship with her, calls her Mags. They may be married; I do not know. She's got dark skin, full lips. Was in law enforcement in Canada as of two thousand five, two thousand six."

I paused. "The other associate is Mikhail Dobrynja, a Russian national." I paused to spell that name, too. "Pellick calls him Mischa. Pellick held a dive licence and maybe a salvage licence as of ought five, ought six; he dived on the remains of Newfoundland. Dobrynja piloted the dive boat, so he's probably licensed for that too."

"Anything else?" Armsmaster sounded positively eager, gleeful, at the information I was giving him.

"Just three things. Saint has a facial tattoo; it's in the shape of a cross, over his eyes, with circuitry, and little dots of light moving along the circuit lines. Another thing is a maybe. I do not know if it's true or not. He may or may not live, or own property, on Yonge Street in Toronto."

"And the third thing?" he asked.

I took a deep breath. "The reason I asked you to cut Dragon out of the loop. He's hacked into her systems, _hard._ Any move she makes, anything she sees or hears, he knows about. He's got hacks in place that let him do stuff that she just can't see. And he's got a kill-switch he can pull at any time. Shut her down for good. Possibly kill her. Personally."

There was more silence. _"Fuck,"_ he grated. He knew as well as I did, what I meant by that. Dragon could have no part in an effort to hunt down Saint. She must not even be allowed to know that it was happening.

Piggot was more pragmatic. _"All_ of her systems?" she asked. "Such as the Birdcage?"

I nodded. "He can tap into any of her monitors. Including in the Birdcage. He desperately wants to get Teacher out of there, so he can get some more brain-boosting. Teacher wants to get out of there, so he can carry out his own plans. But Saint can't let anyone out of the Birdcage, because it requires more than just Dragon deciding to let someone out. And simply shutting down the system would cut off their air and life support."

She nodded, giving me an appraising look. "Well, it's bad," she said. "But not irreparable."

"Oh, it's all fixable," I agreed. "And I want to help you fix it. Which is why I'm here. There are things happening behind the scenes. I know about them. And some of it I need to tell you about now, and some I need to tell you about later."

"Why not all right now?" asked Armsmaster.

"Because the wrong information being acted on at the wrong time by the wrong people, even with the best of intentions, could upset the whole house of cards," I said flatly. "It would be worse than if I held back the information altogether."

"So how _did_ you come about all this information?" asked the Director curiously. "And do you have more that you're willing to share?"

I had to chuckle. "Yes, I've got more to share. And yes, I could tell you where I got it from. But seriously, you would not believe me."

Piggot looked at Armsmaster. He nodded. "He believes that implicitly."

"You could try us," she said, a hint of steel in her voice. "I've been led to believe some rather unbelievable facts, in my time."

I shook my head. "Sorry. It sounds silly, even in my head. And I'd rather keep my credibility. But as for sharing information; I do have two more things. Something that's happening in this very building, and a crime that's going to happen in five days' time. A crime that I would really, really rather you stopped."

"What's happening in this building?" asked the Director, at almost exactly the same time as Armsmaster said, "A crime?"

Once more, the silent communication. Or perhaps, I realised, it was a simple battle of wills. In any case, the Director won once more. Armsmaster nodded slightly. Piggot gestured for me to go on.

I took a deep breath. "You have as many as three spies in this building, or you will by the time Leviathan strikes. International mercenaries, planted here by Coil. You might want to ask Dragon to check with facial recognition; she would have picked this up anyway, but this way just speeds up the process."

Director Piggot looked grim. "I don't like that. I don't like that, at all."

"Can you give us anything more on Coil?" asked Armsmaster.

"When the time comes," I said. "For now, I'm just giving you a heads-up on what he's doing, specifically to do with you. I'll tell you more about him, enough to take him down for good, when the time is right."

"Why not right now?" asked Piggot directly.

"Because it's the wrong time, and it would do more harm than good," I told her flatly.

She glanced at Armsmaster; he nodded fractionally.

"We could hold you," she suggested. "Until you decide the time is right."

I shook my head. "I've got a balancing act going on here. I've got things to do, to make sure other things happen. If you detain me, I drop everything." A deep breath. "And besides, Dragon did ask you to let me go free, after."

"By your own admission, Dragon is compromised," Armsmaster stated.

"No," I told him. "She's not. She's just being watched, and is in serious danger from Pellick. He's not in communication with her, and he couldn't coerce her if he tried. He can't make her break the law. Her moral code is too strong. And just because he sees and hears everything that goes through her systems, doesn't mean he _understands_ it."

There was a silence, filled by the discordant hum.

"You mentioned a crime," Armsmaster said at last.

I nodded. "This is also due to Coil. It's set to happen around about midday on Thursday the fourteenth of April. Stop it, and you put a fatal crimp in his plans ..."

=/=/=

_Director Piggot and Armsmaster faced one another in the office. The door was locked, the windows shuttered, the discordant hum once more active._

"_We could have held him." Armsmaster._

_"We could have," agreed the Director. "But my read of the situation is that he's working for someone else, whether he knows it or not. They're feeding him information, and he's choosing to pass it on to us." A searching glance. "Are you sure he wasn't lying to you?"_

_Armsmaster shrugged. "The scanner indicated that he does not possess an active corona pollentia. Either he's taught himself to lie with his whole body, or he was being absolutely honest with us all the way. Holding things back, not telling us the entire truth on occasion, but he never lied."_

_Piggot shook her head. "I don't like it. I have no idea who's behind him, or what their ultimate aims are. I don't trust random benevolence, in any form." She paused. "But, on the other hand, someone with that sort of information at their fingertips, we don't want to get on their bad side, either. They could do a lot of damage to us. So we don't act against him. Not yet, anyway."_

"_Course of action?"_

"_Observe. Discreetly. But not even Dragon finds out about what he's told us."_

"_Not until we've taken down Saint." He glanced at her. "I'm presuming we're doing that?"_

_She nodded. "You'redoing that. Start following up on that information he gave us. See what you can dig up."_

_His lips tightened. "I'm used to working with Dragon on something like this."_

_She gave him an answering smile, one without any humour to it. "Welcome to working outside your comfort zone."_

=/=/=

I stepped out of the lift into the lobby of the PRT building, wearing my jacket. Director Piggot and Armsmaster had been cordial on my leaving, and had not hindered me in any way, but I had zero doubt that they would be watching me as closely as they could. The scan they had asked me to sit still for hadn't even tickled; I had an idea what that was for, and was fairly certain it would turn out negative.

Technically speaking, they could not legally hold me; I had committed no crime, and indeed had gone to them with the information. But legal technicalities bore little relation to the truth of the matter; Tagg, for instance, would have been a sight less cooperative. I suspected that I had only gotten out of there for two reasons; one, because Dragon had asked it of them, and two, on the strength of my promise that I would give them more information when and if it became necessary to do so.

And I would. I knew I would. I just had to make sure I gave them the _right_ information at the _right_ time.

I hoped I would be able to figure out when that time was.

I was still riding the unicycle on the tightrope over the Grand Canyon, but I wasn't juggling the chainsaws any more, and the wind had died down. Things were a little easier; I had a touch of breathing space.

Which meant that I could do the next thing on my agenda.

I pulled out my phone, and paged through till I found the right number. Pressed the green button.

"Hi," I said. "It's me. Look, I know you said coffee, but I have an invitation to a little bit of a social gathering. Are you interested?"

As I spoke, I eyed the gift shop. Once I was done with the call, I decided, I would pick myself up a little something.

Superhero memorabilia? _Hell_ yes.

* * *

End of Part Four


	5. Chapter 5

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Five: Fourth Interaction

* * *

I attracted some odd looks on the bus, but I didn't care. The brightly coloured bags, covered with the symbols and logos of the most prominent capes in the city, looked rather like show bags from what I was increasingly thinking of as "back home".

I had quite unashamedly bought one of every action figure I could get my hands on. Even the one for Shadow Stalker, which I had found, rather appropriately, lurking at the back of the shelf. She _had_ been a Ward for about six months, after all. And I had one each of Aegis and Gallant, who were due to die when Leviathan hit the city.

I didn't know how to think about that.

Two teenagers, decent kids, that _I_ knew were doomed in the upcoming fight; should I feel sorry? Resigned? Try to warn them in some way?

Aegis was, as far as I could tell, a dedicated leader, and good at it. Gallant's death would gut both Victoria Dallon and Missy Biron. Which would in turn lead to Vicky's harsher attitude in dealing with Amy, and to Missy's fatalist attitude ...

... wait.

Was all this even going to _happen_ any more?

What if my interference caused Leviathan to _not_ hit the city?

Was that even possible?

I considered that. The Simurgh may well communicate with Leviathan, tell him that they're ready for him. That was if the Simurgh was even working with the other two at this point in time. If they were still under Eidolon's orders, then it might not matter.

And even if it did, Leviathan may well come out with the Endbringer version of "Challenge accepted!" and come along anyway. I recalled how the defence of New Delhi had gone against Behemoth, even with the massive preparation that had taken place there. Granted, the Protectorate had been fragmented by then, due to the Eidolon clone's revelations during the Echidna incident. But still, it had not been a good showing.

Alternatively, I considered, Leviathan may choose to come early, he may come late, or he may not come at all. He might divert to New York or Boston. He might go somewhere else altogether.

In which case I would have to explain to Director Piggot about the Simurgh's abilities. That would be an interesting conversation.

By this time, of course, all future events would be skewed so far out of line that there would be no predicting them. I just wanted to control them up to the fourteenth, and set events in motion thereafter.

My usefulness from then on would be strictly to do with knowledge of people, and of how to take out Scion. Also, the origin of the Endbringers. Which was, to be honest, a bit of a hot potato. I sure as hell wasn't going to stroll up to Eidolon and break it to him over a cup of coffee. He might take it badly. I didn't want to be there when he took it badly. Demonstrably, being in a different _dimension_ wouldn't make me safe from Eidolon.

One of my bags shifted, and I caught it before it spilled. However, the folded plastic halberd sticking out the top was entirely visible to all and sundry. The woman sitting next to me eyed the toy with a raised eyebrow.

"It's fun being an uncle," I told her, totally truthfully – I had two nieces and a nephew back on my Earth – but with no bearing on the current situation.

"Ah," she said, with a smile. "Stocking up for birthdays?"

I nodded. "Something like that."

"What else do you have?" she asked, poking at the bag. "That's not all action figures."

"No," I agreed. "There's a board game and a roleplaying game too. I'm interested in seeing how that goes."

"It's been years since I played a board game," she commented. "I kind of got out of the habit."

I nodded. "That happens. I try to play games as much as possible." A grin. "I have to grow old. I don't have to grow up."

She sighed. "Well, I have a two year old, so growing up is something I haven't really had the option not to do."

We chatted all the way to my stop; I enjoyed it. It was a pleasant distraction from the thoughts that were running around and around in my head.

=/=

By the time I got back to my flat, I was starting to regret having purchased all the action figures that I had. It reminded me of times attending conventions, when I had gotten on the train with bags bulging with merchandise. Taken all together, such things can get _heavy._

I had actually gotten some great board games and card games out of those events. And I still had Sting hanging on the wall. Back home, that is. Here, not so much. This version of me apparently didn't do pop culture expos, or rather, there probably weren't any to attend.

Which was a real pity. Capes could attend, cosplaying as themselves. Or show up to do celebrity appearances.

I would sure as hell line up to get an autograph from Miss Militia. And a photo.

These pleasant thoughts carried me through getting back into the flat, and sorting out my merchandise. The action figures were cool; the halberd was cooler. Although I nearly hit the ceiling fan when I tried to spin it like a quarterstaff.

Deciding that it would be a bad idea to break my stuff on the same day I bought it, I reluctantly put the halberd down – it wasn't as cool as holding the real thing would have been, but it was still very cool – and looked into the board game.

It was interesting; the board was a stylised map of Brockton Bay, with various landmarks shown. From what I could understand of the rules, each player got to play a Brockton Bay cape. Nearly all the Wards and Protectorate capes were represented, although the game must have been more than six months old, as Shadow Stalker wasn't there, and Triumph was shown as being in the Wards.

In fact, as I found to my amusement as I flicked through the Event cards, one such event was "Encounter with a Vigilante", showing an unmistakeable image of Shadow Stalker, looming menacingly on a rooftop.

Each player cape was represented by a card bearing an action photo, a fairly corny quote, and basic stats. The power ratings were heavily featured, with explanations underneath.

It looked like it could be an interesting game ... if I could find anyone to play it with me.

Next, I looked over the roleplaying game. It bore the strikingly original title of _Capes!_, and featured someone who looked vaguely like Alexandria punching someone who looked vaguely like Jack Slash through a brick wall.

However, after a bit of a read through the rules, I was less than impressed. This was a quickie game; the players rolled the dice for their power types and ratings, then consulted random charts for the actual power effect. Unfortunately, there appeared to have been a bit of author bias, and all power sets that mimicked a prominent real-world cape were considerably more effective than a randomly-rolled cape. I got the strong impression that they had written up the existing powersets, then added in other random powers to add a little variety.

In addition, the system itself was clunky, the descriptions were not altogether clear, and some of the rules had loopholes that Behemoth could stroll through without touching the sides. But, I supposed, in a world starved for light-hearted entertainment, this would work as well as anything.

=/=

Once I tired of playing with the toys, I sat down at the laptop. I should, I supposed, put some stuff down, just in case I got badly hurt, or even killed, over the next few days. First, I turned off the internet connection. Then I opened a page and started writing.

_Taylor Hebert needs to become Skitter and go out on Sunday night to fight Lung, otherwise the Undersiders may not rob the bank on Thursday._

I read the sentence through and shook my head. I knew why. I had context. Anyone else reading it would just start asking "why?"

That was my biggest problem with trying to leave a contingency plan. I didn't have the backup of people who would just follow my instructions without second-guessing them. No-one else in the world had the grasp of context that I did.

I deleted the sentence.

I sighed, tried again.

* * *

_Amy Dallon, aka Panacea, must meet with Mrs Jessica Yamada in order to deal with her issues. These issues involve the following:_

_a pseudo-incestuous attraction toward her foster sister Victoria_

_a toxic home life involving an unrequited attraction toward Victoria, a borderline-abusive foster mother who neither likes nor trusts her, and a father who isn't there even when he's there._

_She needs to deal with her problem with working with brains. Suggested compromise: to bring brain damage sufferers back up to status quo. If she does not deal with this, she will suffer, and so will Vicky._

_She's been healing people for three years, more or less forced to do so by emotional blackmail. She needs to learn that she can step back, take a break._

_She needs to move out of home. Seriously._

_She needs to come to terms with who her father is (Marquis). She also needs to understand that she is NOT becoming a villain. Becoming burned out is not the same as choosing to be a bad person._

_She needs emotional support, and a moral compass. Seriously._

* * *

I read through what I had written, then shuddered.

Falling into the wrong hands, this could be used to devastating effect.

I needed to be able to save documents like this, without just leaving them for anyone to read.

Five minutes of online research later, I had the answer. I hadn't even known that it was possible to encrypt .zip-files. Now I did.

I saved it to a text file, then encrypted it, with a password that no-one on this Earth would easily guess; even Tattletale would be hard put to figure out the name of the story and the author of same.

In the event of my death, how the hell was I supposed to get good information to those who would actually make use of it properly? Who were those people, anyway? What information would be made good use of, and what would be misused? Seriously, this was Worm. Bad life decisions were sort of a given, here.

Actually typing it up and then saving it in encrypted files was a start, I figured. It was the best I could do.

I sighed again, and deleted the page I had been writing on. The last thing I needed was someone going through my laptop and hitting 'undo delete', and reading the juicy stuff.

Inserting a memory stick, I copied across the Panacea file, then wiped it from the computer. I pulled the stick out and put it to one side.

Turning on the internet connection, I checked my emails.

There was one from Dragon; or at least, one without a sender name.

It read, _All good?_

I typed up a quick reply. _All good. Thanks._

The email was sent, disappearing into the electronic ether. Then, as was my habit, I started surfing the net, checking out what tabs I had open.

There was a tab for Parahumans Online. Of course I clicked it.

I even had an account; the username was different, but not so very much so. It made me pause, and I dug out my wallet. Had a good look at my driver's licence. When I saw what 'my' middle name was, I laughed out loud. It made sense; it made a lot of sense. But I still found it hilarious.

I just wished there was someone I could share the joke with.

=/=

Reading the PHO boards was ... interesting. I checked some of 'my' previous postings, and found them to be more or less what I would write; good spelling, good grammar, bad puns.

Then I trawled the message boards for a while. A post from "GstringGirl" jogged my memory, and I sent her a friend request. Sveta was a nice girl, if you ignored the murder tentacles; I figured she could do with an online pal who just wanted to chat.

I encountered XxVoid_CowboyxX espousing a half-baked opinion on something, so I replied, pretending to agree with him, but in the process puncturing his theory neatly. I wondered how he would respond.

Then I had a look at the profile pages of the hero and villain capes of Brockton Bay and beyond. Some of them were extremely interesting, while others were startlingly incomplete or even inaccurate; I amused myself for a while, opening a text file and typing up much more complete descriptions, and saving them on my computer. When and if the time came, I could just post them up, and watch the jaws drop.

Then I reconsidered, found another memory stick, .zip-filed the profiles and saved the file on to there. The original file, I deleted. If need be, I could pass that on to the PRT at some point.

After a little more thought, I found an envelope, scribbled "In the event of my death, please give this to the PRT" on it, put the memory stick in it, and shoved it in a drawer.

I glanced up at the clock. It was nearly time to get ready.

=/=

I had a slightly better idea of how the streets of Brockton Bay ran this time, so I wasn't more than ten minutes late to pick up Mrs Knott. However, I had planned for this, and given myself fifteen minutes of leeway. I expected to be waiting for a little while when I pulled up outside her house, but the front door opened before I even opened her front gate.

"Hi," I said. "You look very nice, Mrs Knott." And she did; she had on a sky-blue dress with a matching hairband, setting off her blonde hair. She still looked somewhat mannish, but her smile went a long way toward dispelling that impression.

"You know, you _can _call me Gladys," she told me, mock-severely, with a nod to acknowledge the compliment.

"Sure," I agreed. "But only if you call me Mike."

She smiled again. "I see you cut your hair, Mike," she observed. "It makes you look a little different."

I shrugged. "I like to keep it trimmed down. Makes me look more like a security guard."

Her expression was amused as she climbed into the passenger seat of my pickup. "It certainly does that."

I rounded the vehicle and climbed into my side. "It's an image thing. I started growing the beard about nine years ago, after I'd been doing security for a year. Another guard suggested it, to make me look more mature. It seems to work."

She nodded. "Image is important, especially for first impressions."

"Particularly for teachers and security guards," I agreed blandly, hitting the indicatior and pulling on to the road.

"I didn't know what you were going to be arriving in," she observed, looking around at the slightly-worn interior of the pickup. "This would not have been my first choice."

I grinned slightly. "It was my first car. I've had it since nineteen ninety." I nearly added that it was twenty-four years old, then amended it to, "Twenty-one this year."

"Why a pickup?" she asked. "Why not a car?"

I shrugged. "Much more utility if you're moving things around town. It makes moving house a cinch. I've done that a few times, for friends as well as myself."

"I see," she observed. "Very useful."

"Also," I added, "far less likely to be stolen."

"Improved alarm system?"

I shook my head. "No street cred."

She laughed at that, but nodded at the same time. "I see your point. I do see your point."

=/=

I took a slightly roundabout route to get to Danny's house. First, we stopped at a convenience store, where I purchased a packet of frozen sausages, two large bottles of soda, and a couple of large packets of chips.

"A good guest brings as much as he's likely to eat, or perhaps a little more," I explained, as we wedged my purchases in between us on the bench seat. The soda went down into the passenger footwell.

"A good philosophy," she agreed. "Perhaps you should have let me pay for some of that."

"Nah," I said. "You're my plus one. Tonight's on me."

I turned the vehicle around and got on to one of the main crosstown streets.

"Doesn't Taylor live out that way?" she asked, pointing off to the side.

"Yeah," I agreed. "But I'm crap at finding my way around this city, so I've decided on a three-step plan. Step one: drive east until we hit Lord Street. Step two, drive along Lord Street until we reach the cross-street leading to her house. Step three, drive down that street until we reach the house."

She nodded consideringly. "That's a good plan. I'm presuming you weren't a cab driver in Brockton Bay, then."

I shook my head. "Nah. Some little town you've probably never heard of."

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," I confirmed, and told her the name. Predictably, she didn't know it. Predictably, because there was no town of that name in the state that I claimed it was in. This was because the town was actually in another country, and was where I came from, back home.

=/=

I hated lying to Gladys Knott, but I didn't want to get more people wondering about me than was really necessary. I _really_ hated lying to her, because I liked her and respected her quite a lot; while she had been toeing the line at Winslow, as soon as I had offered her the chance to get something done, she had not flinched and she had not stepped back on her word.

So, I had decided, when Danny had called me about the little get-together, I figured that she deserved a piece of it too, given the role she had played in what had gone down.

=/=

We pulled up outside the house; I had been rolling down the street, reading numbers off of mailboxes, and this was the right one. Not all of my cabbie tricks were useless here in Brockton Bay.

I noted that the house was on a corner; this made a certain amount of sense, especially with the mention of a chain-link gate at the side of the house.

Gladys got out, and I retrieved the soda bottles from the foot-well; she took the chips and sausages. I made sure to lock the vehicle; I didn't expect someone to try to steal it, but if they did, I wanted them to work for it.

Sunset was still a little time away, but it was definitely getting into late afternoon as we strolled up the front walk to the house. I nudged Gladys as she was about to walk up the steps to the door, and indicated the bottom step. "I wouldn't step on that," I advised her. "It looks a bit rotten."

She looked where I was pointing, and nodded, stepping over that step. I let her press the doorbell.

Taylor opened the door, wearing a pretty dress, and looking quite nice.

"Hi, Mr Allen!" she greeted me cheerfully, then blinked as she recognised my date. "Mrs Knott?"

"You can call me Gladys for tonight, Taylor," the teacher replied with a smile. "Michael invited me; I hope that's all right?"

Taylor nodded. "Sure. You were there too." She stepped back. "Come on through. Dad's wrestling with the barbecue."

We followed her through the front hall to the kitchen, where we paused to unload the perishables into the fridge, and then on out to the back yard.

There was a folding table there next to the barbecue, into which Danny was peering, engrossed in the mysteries thereof. He looked up as we emerged from the back door.

"Mike!" he greeted me, and came over to shake my hand.

"Danny, thanks for inviting me," I replied. "You know Gladys Knott?"

"I do," he agreed. "Gladys, thanks for backing Mike up with the thing at the school."

Mrs Knott flushed slightly from the praise. "If I had favourite students, Taylor would be one of them. So I couldn't do anything less, once I saw what was going on."

He nodded. "Unlike some others I could name," he said, then brightened. "But let's not talk about that. I have a barbecue that doesn't want to light. Anyone here know how to get that done?"

The three of us conferred seriously over the problem while Taylor brought out chairs and the sun slowly sank into the west. We managed to work it out in the end, just before some more of the guests arrived.

* * *

Flames were beginning to leap up through the barbecue grill as two more people arrived, this time coming in through the side gate.

Kurt was a big man, one of the dock workers that Danny worked with. He was, Danny explained, the foreman of his crew. His wife Lacey was more petite, but they both had a hard-bitten, no-nonsense air about them.

"Heard what you did for young Taylor," Kurt said to me, seizing my hand in a grip like a steel vice; I squeezed back, hoping to give as good as I got.

"Yeah, well, I saw something that needed doing, so I did it," I replied, trying not to wince at the power of his handshake.

Lacey shook my hand after her husband had finished mangling it; her grip was less strong, but in no way weak. "Don't sell yourself short," she said. "You did a good thing."

Off to the side, Taylor was speaking with her teacher. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Taylor was nodding and smiling, and Mrs Knott seemed to be pleased as well. She put her hand on Taylor's shoulder and squeezed, and Taylor seemed to levitate three inches off the ground from sheer happiness.

I told Danny about the sausages, and he nodded. "Thanks," he said. "Get them out to defrost while I get the steaks on. There's beer in the fridge as well; feel free to grab one."

I noted that Kurt already had one, but Lacey seemed to be contenting herself with a cup of soda.

"No thanks," I said. "I don't drink, and anyway, I'm driving. But I'll have some of the soda. Brought some of that too."

"Hah," he grinned, the flames of the barbecue reflecting off of his glasses. "I'm gonna have to invite you over more often."

"That," I agreed over my shoulder, "is the general idea."

I brought the steaks out, and a beer to Danny; he hadn't asked for one, but nor did he have one, and it seemed to be a reasonable idea. Nor did he object; he opened it immediately, and I saw him taking occasional swigs between turning the steaks over.

* * *

The sky was beginning to purple over, and a few more people had arrived, by the time the party got into full swing; that is, the first steaks started coming off of the barbecue. I got mine, and I found a seat at the folding table. Gladys was chatting with Lacey, Kurt and Danny were in the middle of a group of dock-workers, and I found myself temporarily alone.

That is, until, Taylor sat down opposite me.

"Hey, Taylor," I greeted her.

"Hey, Mike," she replied. "It's okay to call you Mike, right?"

I nodded. "My friends get to call me Mike," I confirmed. I held out my fist; she bumped it, and grinned.

"So, what's on your mind?" I asked.

She concentrated on her steak. "I never said that anything was on my mind."

"Yeah, right," I commented quietly. "You're a smart kid. You're observant, and you're always thinking about _something._ But I'm not all that bad at my job either, and I get the impression that you came over to talk to me about something."

She glanced up at me. _"Can_ I talk to you about something? And you don't tell Dad about it?"

I raised an eyebrow. "If not telling him means you get hurt, then yes, I'll tell him. But other than that … sure."

She smiled widely at that. "Thanks. I –"

"Company," I interrupted, as Gladys came over toward the table. Taylor shut up, and by the time the teacher came into hearing, I was explaining the duties of a security guard. "Oh, hey, Gladys," I said, as she came up alongside me, "Taylor wanted to know what else a security guard gets to do, apart from catch bullies."

Mrs Knott directed a smile at Taylor. "Thinking about a future career, Taylor?" she asked.

Taylor looked startled; I rubbed my chin and nodded thoughtfully. "You know, you could do worse," I said. "I think you'd make a great security guard."

"That's nice," responded Gladys. "Michael, Danny wanted to introduce you around to the boys. He seems to think it's a big deal."

I heaved myself to my feet, leaving my plate on the table. With Gladys on my arm, I approached the group of dock-workers. Danny introduced them to me; I repeated the names back to try to remember them, but I knew that I'd forget most by the time the night was done.

Each man shook my hand solemnly, and I realised that I was being introduced to them specifically by the union rep. I was being accepted into the inner circle, such as it was. I had done Danny Hebert a good turn; this would not be forgotten.

Fortunately, they weren't as careless with their grips as Kurt had been with his; my hand was aching by the time I finished shaking hands with the group of burly dock-workers, but it felt reasonably intact.

"It's good to meet you guys," I said. "It really is. I'm new to the city, and I'm always happy to meet new friends."

This pleased them; we chatted for a short while, then I pleaded the necessity to get back to my steak, which Taylor had been guarding for me.

* * *

Not only had she been guarding it, but she had also added a couple of the grilled sausages. I grinned and added a dollop of ketchup from the squeeze bottle on the table. "Good thinking," I said. "Your dad does a mean barbecue."

"He doesn't get that many chances," she observed. "But since yesterday, he's been the happiest I've seen him in a while. Thanks for that, by the way."

I glanced across at where Danny was chatting with Gladys, then back to the teenager across from me. "Well, you're looking pretty chipper yourself, kid." I indicated the dress she was wearing. "Bright colours, even. A bit of a difference from yesterday. It brings out your eyes."

She coloured slightly. "Thanks. I feel brighter. Yeah, happier, I guess." She sat up and looked me directly in the eye. "Can we talk about what we were talking about before, or are you not really interested?"

I stood up. "Sure, I'm interested. Let's talk."

We strolled over to the back stairs; she sat on the steps, while I leaned on the railing.

"What if I …" She hesitated. "Went through a life changing experience. If I felt that there was something I could do to make the world a better place, but I wasn't sure if what I was planning on doing was the right thing. What would you suggest?"

"Why aren't you sure?" I asked.

"Well, before yesterday," she confessed, "I had reasons for going ahead and doing it. But what you did yesterday, some of those reasons aren't so strong any more."

I frowned. "You're saying that me helping you made you not want to do this thing?"

"No," she said. "I'm saying that you showing me that not everyone in the world apart from me and Dad is a dick, is what made me think that maybe I should slow down a bit, think it through."

"Huh," I said. "So what you're talking about, it's potentially dangerous?"

"Hypothetically dangerous, yes," she admitted.

"So before, you were going to do it because …"

"Because I wanted to escape from the shitty life I had at school, and dangerous or not, I'd be making a difference, and just that alone would be a thousand percent better," she told me in a rush.

"Ah," I said. "Light dawns. What I did yesterday made the shitty life at school a lot less shitty. Thus, less to escape from. Also, the impending transfer."

She nodded. "Just knowing that there's someone on my side." Her voice was low. "Before, there was no-one who would back me up, take my side, _listen_ to me."

I nodded. "I've been there before, believe me." I took a deep breath. "But you know something? I think … having been bullied like that has made me a better security guard. I'm more aware of how it's like from the downside. What it's like being shat on from a great height, excuse my French."

She grinned abruptly. "Oh, I know that feeling," she said fervently.

"So yeah," I went on. "That's why I said you'd make a great guard. You know about bullies, but you aren't one yourself. Actually …" I said musingly.

"Actually?" she asked.

"It just struck me. I reckon the best capes would be the ones who were bullied. Not the ones who've always had it good. The ones who know that there's always someone else needing help." I nodded down at Taylor. "You'd make a _great_ superhero. Swooping across the skyline in your red and blue costume, your cape flapping behind you …" With one hand, I mimed the course a drunken duck may have taken.

She laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.

Danny, passing through on his way inside to get more chips, nodded at the two of us. "You all good?" he asked. "Another drink?"

"I'm good," I said. "Need a hand?"

"No, thanks," he demurred. "You're the guest, you stay put."

Taylor was still chuckling as he went inside. _"You'd_ make a great cape," she told me. "You saved me, yesterday."

"Sorry," I told her. "I can't do it. It's impossible"

She fell into the trap. "Why not?" she asked.

I grinned. "Because the name 'Chubster' is already taken." I patted my not inconsiderable stomach. Taylor broke up all over again.

On his way out with the chips, Danny stopped to observe his daughter's mirth. He shook his head. "Whatever jokes you're telling her," he said to me, "keep it up. I haven't seen her laugh like that in forever."

He walked away; Taylor gradually regained her breath. "I don't … believe it," she gasped. "There's actually … a cape … called Chubster?"

I nodded. "Found him yesterday on Parahumans Online." I shook my head. "The names some people take on …"

"You read that site too?" she asked.

"It's interesting," I confirmed with another nod. "Glimpses into a whole different world. I chat to some of them. They have interesting perspectives." I looked down at her. "But under it all, they're just people like you and me. And I think some people forget that from time to time."

"Yeah …" she said quietly.

"So, to get back to your question," I said. "Hypothetically, how long would you have been preparing for this thing you're talking about doing?"

"Months," she responded.

"And is there anything else you have to do in order to be ready?"

She paused. "Nothing major," she admitted.

I shrugged. "So do it. Get up on the horse. Prove to the world that you're ready to do something good, to change things. Putting things off only breeds excuses not to go through with them."

"You think so?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. "I'll let you in on a little secret. First day at anything, you're never going to be perfect. But if you're good enough, that'll do. You can learn to be perfect, later. But if you hold off until you're perfect … then you could be holding off a long, long time."

Taylor nodded slowly, a determined look creeping over her face. "I'll do it," she decided firmly. "I will."

"Good for you." I offered her my fist to bump. She bumped it, looking pleased. "So what are you doing? Some sort of volunteer work?"

"… sort of." Her voice was guarded.

I raised an eyebrow. "Considering that it's something that your Dad isn't aware that you're doing, it must be pretty radical. Running away to join the PRT or something?" I put a joking tone in my voice.

"Hah, yeah, as if," she retorted, rolling her eyes. Then she looked searchingly at me. "You _can_ keep it a secret, right?" she asked anxiously.

I nodded reassuringly. "You ask me to, I keep it," I told her. "Simple as that."

Getting up, she strolled toward one of the coolers that some of the dock-workers had brought. Opening it, she looked inside, then called out to her father.

"I'm just going to get some more ice, okay, Dad? This one's almost melted."

"Sure thing, kiddo," he replied. "Take Mike. He can do the heavy lifting."

"Gee, thanks," I replied from my post by the steps, loudly enough, and with enough of a wry tone, to raise a laugh.

Taylor trotted up the steps, and I followed her. We went through into the kitchen, and then she opened the one door that had been closed before. It was, of course, the basement door.

* * *

The basement steps, I realised, ran downward under the stairs that led up to the second floor. Reading the story, I had wondered how the house fit together. Standing in it, I understood much better now.

She flicked a switch beside the door, causing bare bulbs to light up, then descended the stairs. I clumped down after her.

There was a small freezer down here, as well as a washing machine and an ancient-looking dryer. It made sense for these to be in the basement, as there was little room in the rest of the house for them; they simply had not been mentioned in the story because they did not feature in the narrative.

While I went to the freezer and opened it, hefting out two large bags of ice, she went to a panel in the wall. It was, I knew, the old coal chute.

She had it down to a fine art; by the time I had two bags out and the freezer closed again, she had the panel off and was lifting out a gym bag. As I watched, she unzipped the bag and lifted out the costume.

"Wow," I said, stepping closer. I reached out to feel the texture. _This is cooler,_ I told myself, _than Armsmaster's halberd._ "What's this?"

"My costume," she told me. "I'm a cape. I've got powers."

"Holy shit, that's so cool," I responded. "What's it made of?"

"Black widow dragline silk," she said, with a touch of pride. She held up the mask for my inspection; I made appreciative noises. And I was impressed, I really was. Reading the description was one thing; seeing the real thing was quite another.

She tucked it back away into its hiding place as I went back to grab the ice. "How did you score a costume made of spider silk?" I asked.

"I made it," she informed me proudly. She was getting a real kick out of impressing me, I could tell.

"_Made_ it?" I repeated. "What, really?"

She nodded, grinning widely. "Guess what my powers are."

"I'm gonna have to think about this one," I pointed out, holding up the ice. "Let's get this upstairs first."

She nodded. "Good idea."

I went up the stairs in front of her, so that she could turn out the light and close the door. Between us, we got the ice bags opened and poured into the various coolers, then we returned to the steps.

"So …" I hazarded. "You spin spider silk and weave it."

"Nope." Eyes dancing with amusement, she shook her head.

"You turn into a swarm of spiders?" I offered next.

"Ew, no," she denied, looking highly entertained.

"Okay," I said slowly. "Putting aside all other weird and wonderful variations on that theme, I'm getting the impression that you can control spiders."

She nodded, grinning widely. "But it's not just spiders. Bugs. All types."

"Nice," I responded. "Very nice. How many can you control at once?"

"I have no idea," she informed me. "Currently, in a two and a half block radius, there are four hundred and sixty-three thousand, seven hundred and ninety-two bugs of various description. I can control them all individually or en masse. I've controlled more." She indicated the dying glow of the barbecue; a moth flew out of the darkness, circled it once, then flew on.

"Colour me very seriously impressed," I told her sincerely. "And I might have been joking before, but I'm not now; I think you'll make a _spectacular _hero."

She half-turned away, to hide her face in shadow, but I could see the blush mounting in her cheeks. "Thanks," she said, her voice slightly muffled. "That means a whole lot, coming from you."

I grinned, and offered her a fist-bump; she took me up on it, answering my grin with one of hers.

"To tell the truth," I told her, "I'm kind of jealous. For my job, I stand around in a uniform and look like a security guard. You're gonna be going out, kicking ass and taking names, looking like a badass."

"Oh, stop it," she said, trying for an annoyed tone, but I could tell she was pleased.

"No, really," I insisted. "I presume you're doing fitness training."

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Running in the morning and afternoon, as well as other exercise."

"That's good," I said approvingly. "Do you have much self-defence training?"

"Not … really," she admitted.

"Well, tell you what. I'll show you some stuff right now. Simple moves. You'll pick it up in five minutes. It won't make you into Bruce Lee or Chuck Norris, but it might give you the edge against someone in a fight sometime. Call it my contribution to the Taylor Hebert Badass fund."

"Um … okay?" Her voice was doubtful.

"Wait here," I told her, and strolled over to where Danny was talking to Kurt and Lacey. Gladys, I saw, was sitting nearby, sipping at her drink and listening to a group of the dock-workers argue sports. She caught my eye and nodded; I nodded back.

"Say, Danny," I said. "I was just going to show Taylor a couple of the basic moves we learn as security guards. Maybe it'll help her if she gets into a bullying situation again."

"Sure," agreed Danny readily. "Does she need to change into jeans or something?"

I shook my head. "Just arm bars and the like," I told him. "Basic compliance holds."

"Go right ahead," he agreed expansively. I wasn't sure how many beers he'd had, but he was definitely looking mellow.

"Thanks," I said, and headed back to Taylor. "Okay, stand up," I instructed. She obeyed; I walked her through a basic arm bar, from both sides, then invited her to try one on me. The first try was a little sloppy, but she got the hang of it, and by the fifth or sixth go, definitely had the idea of what she was doing.

Then I looked around, and realised that we had an audience. Everyone, including Gladys, was standing, watching the impromptu training course.

"Excellent," I said cheerfully. "Can we have a volunteer, please. You there," I said. "Alexander, right?"

"That's me," said the burly young dock-worker, moving forward sheepishly. "What do you want me to do?"

I stepped aside. "Taylor, you're a security guard. Alex here's trying to get into the club you're standing in front of. Alex, Taylor's stopping you from getting in. Shove her aside."

Alexander stepped up, pushed at her with his right arm. Taylor took his wrist, turned it, and put him into a near-perfect arm bar. The dock-worker found himself in an awkward bent-over position, held by a girl half his size.

"Hey," protested Alexander. "Ow!" Everyone else laughed at his discomfiture.

Reflexively, Taylor began to let up.

"Uh, uh," I cautioned her. "You don't let go just because they say ouch. Alex, do you think she can put you on your knees?"

He looked up at me. "Nope," he stated boldly.

"Taylor," I said, "apply just a bit of pressure, the way I showed you."

Taylor applied pressure. Alexander resisted for a moment, then went to one knee. Everyone else applauded.

"You can let him go now, Taylor," I told her. "Thanks for being a good sport, Alex."

He nodded grudgingly to me as he got up. "You taught her pretty fast," he admitted. "Reckon you could teach any of us that stuff?"

"Sure," I agreed. "But you gotta agree, Taylor needs it more than you do. So I'm teaching her."

He nodded in agreement. "What else you got?" he asked.

* * *

Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, I showed Taylor several more compliance holds; she got to practise them first on me, then on consenting members of the audience, including her own father.

"Okay," he said, after trying and failing to free himself from her carefully-applied grip. "You can let go now, Taylor."

"Can I get a raise on my allowance first?" she asked sweetly, to general laughter. He was released moments later; rubbing his wrist, he came over to me and shook my hand.

"What's that for?" I queried.

"Look at her," he said quietly. "You've made her the star of the show, shown her that she can hold her own physically against larger people. I don't think she'll ever let herself be a bullying victim again."

I looked over at Taylor's shining face as she accepted the congratulations and praise from those around her. "You've got a pretty special daughter there, Danny," I told him. "She's got the potential to go far. I'm just doing my bit."

"Well, I appreciate it," he responded. "Any time you need a hand with anything, the Dockworkers Association will be there for you. Count on it."

I blinked. _Wow._ "Okay, sure," I said. "Thanks."

=/=

The party began winding down shortly after that; the dock-workers took their coolers and drifted away. Kurt and Lacey were the last to go; Kurt shook my hand again, but was much more careful about it than before.

"You're all right in my book, Allen," he said gruffly. "You take care."

"You too," I told him, then shook hands with Lacey.

She leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. "I might get you to teach me some of those things you were showing Taylor," she said jokingly. "I need to keep Kurt in line somehow."

"Any time," I replied with a grin, even as he mock-recoiled away from her.

"Not likely, woman," he protested. "I get beaten down enough by you already."

With a chuckle, I turned back to help Danny carry the furniture back into the house, while Taylor chatted with Gladys.

"Thanks again," Danny told me as we got the last chairs inside. "You know you're welcome over anytime."

"I think I'll take you up on that," I agreed. "I won't be seeing Taylor once she makes the move to Arcadia, so I'll want to keep up on how she's doing somehow."

He nodded. "Anytime," he repeated.

"Oh, Michael," Gladys said, entering from the living room. "I need to use the powder room before I go; is that all right?"

"Sure," I told her. "I'll be out at my car." A thought struck me. "Actually, Taylor, I got something you might find useful. Come on out?"

She accompanied me out to where the pickup sat at the curb. "Wow," she said, rubbing her arms against the gathering chill. "How old is this thing?"

"Some respect, please," I retorted, mock-severely. "I've had it since before you were born." I opened the passenger side door, and leaned the seat forward. There was a zippered vinyl wallet there, and I opened it, to reveal several small cylindrical objects. "Here," I told her. "Have this, and this."

"What are these?" she asked, handling them gingerly.

"Pepper spray and a screamer," I told her.

"I've _got_ pepper spray," she pointed out.

I grinned. "Not this stuff, you don't," I contradicted her. "This is military grade. You spray this in someone's eyes, his _grandaddy _feels it." I raised an eyebrow, probably invisible in the dark. "Just the thing for capes that are tougher than the average bear."

"Thanks," she nodded, tucking it into her pocket. "I appreciate it. And this … screamer?"

"Miniature air horn," I clarified. "Only good for a couple of blasts, but it's great for deafening opponents." I tapped the small belled horn on one side. "Point away from your face. I cannot stress this enough."

"Got it," she agreed. "And thanks again." Quickly, she hugged me, and just as quickly let me go.

I felt unexpectedly, deeply, touched by the gesture. "It's all good," I told her. "Just … one more thing."

"Yeah?" she asked.

"I'd advise you to tell your father," I said quietly. "Let him know what's up. Because your behaviour _is_ going to change, and it's better that he knows. Trust me on this."

She looked at me for a long moment. I looked back.

In the end, she nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I think I can now."

I smiled, and held out my fist. She bumped it, just as Gladys emerged from the front door.

"Ready to go?" I called out to her.

"Whenever you are, Michael," she responded. "Good night, Taylor."

"Good night – Gladys," Taylor answered her, grinning so widely that I saw it even in the darkness.

"Take care, Taylor," I said, rounding the car to the driver's side.

"You too, Mike," she told me. "And thanks for everything."

=/=

Gladys Knott was quiet for some of the drive back to her house. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, thoughtful.

"That was a really nice thing you did for young Taylor, back there."

I half-shrugged. "I like doing good things for people. And when people really need it … I feel even better about doing them."

She nodded in the semi-darkness. "It doesn't make it any less admirable."

I half-shrugged again. "Thanks." It was inadequate, but it was all I could think of to say.

=/=

When I pulled to a halt in front of her house, Gladys reached out and took my hand. "I want to thank you for a really, really enjoyable evening," she said softly. I was surprised enough by the feeling of her fingers closing over mine; when she reached up with her other hand, and pulled my head around, I didn't know how to react.

Her lips were soft and warm on mine. The kiss lasted forever; it lasted no time at all. By the time it ended, my head was whirling, my heart was racing, and there was a roaring in my ears.

"Now, I am not the sort of woman who invites a man into her house after one date," she said softly. "So I expect to see you again, quite soon, Michael. Is that quite understood?"

"I … um … yes?" I mumbled, trying to unscramble my vocal cords.

"Good," she murmured, and kissed me again, a promise against more. And then she was out of the vehicle and striding up her front path. In a kind of daze, I watched her open the front door, turn on the inside light, and then turn and wave, silhouetted against the light. Stupidly, I waved back, fully aware that she could not see me inside the vehicle at all.

=/=

I was still in somewhat of a daze when I put the vehicle into gear again and headed back to my place. Twenty-plus years of driving experience let me handle the mundane actions of controlling the pickup, while the rest of my brain replayed what had happened.

_Wow, _I thought. _Wow, and good God._

* * *

I wasn't quite sure how I managed to find my street again, but I did; I pulled into the apartment complex and parked in my spot. I was still mulling over the delightful kiss bestowed upon me by Gladys Knott, and thus I was more than halfway across the courtyard to the stairs leading to my apartment when I became aware that I was not alone.

Specifically, this was made known to me when a knife pricked at my back, just over my kidneys, through my jacket.

"Wallet and keys, fat boy," growled a voice. "And don't fuck around."

_Of all the times I choose to not wear my stab vest, _I told myself. _I had to choose the time I actually get mugged._

_Fuck._

* * *

End of Part Five


	6. Chapter 6

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Six: Fifth Interaction

* * *

I went very still.

"Sure thing, buddy," I said out loud. "I'll do that right now. Let's not do anything either one of us is going to regret."

With my left hand, I reached into my pants pocket and retrieved my wallet. I held it up, and tossed it to the ground a little in front of me.

"Wallet," I informed him. "Just like you asked."

He jabbed me again, just a little harder. "Keys too, smartass."

I forced a laugh. "Seriously? Have you _seen_ my ride? Zero street cred there, buddy. And it's over twenty years old. Resale value nil."

The knife came away from my back. "Don't get fucking smart with me, jerkass!"

I sensed that he was going to jab me a third time, harder still, and that this might just penetrate to a dangerous level. So I stepped forward, half-turning to my right. As soon as my left foot landed, I transferred the axis of the turn to that foot, pivoting on the ball of the foot. My right leg went with the momentum of the turn, swinging me back and around; in just a moment, I was a pace farther away from him, but facing back toward him.

He still held the knife, but now I could see him, and had more of a chance of defending myself.

He could have backed off; I would have let him go. But instead he came at me, slashing with the knife. I think he meant to scare me.

I tried to block it with my left forearm to his wrist. But I must have flinched back involuntarily, or he pulled back at the last instant; I felt a searing pain across the outer edge of my left forearm, halfway between the wrist and the elbow.

I shouted something then, from the pain. But reflex took over, and even as I pulled my left arm away from the pain, I caught his right wrist in my right hand. And twisted, against the joints, as I stepped around to his right.

The arm bar was half complete at that point. I had partial control of his arm, but he still held the knife. And if he just bent his elbow a little way, he could probably pull free. I needed to finish applying it, by putting the heel of my left hand against his elbow joint, locking it all the way open.

My left forearm hurt, a lot. I could feel blood on my arm, inside my jacket sleeve. He'd shown a willingness to cut me, and he still held the knife.

These thoughts passed through my mind in an instant. The decision wasn't even conscious. I didn't hesitate.

With all the force I could muster, I put the heel of my hand _through_ his elbow joint.

It jolted the cut on my left forearm, but that was already hurting. His elbow popped and crackled, and he screamed, high and long, even as his fingers opened and the knife dropped from his nerveless fingers. It clattered on the pebblestone of the courtyard.

I still had hold of his wrist, but his elbow was now bending the wrong way altogether; I had dislocated it, and probably done damage to the tendons, ligaments and cartilage that were supposed to keep it operating smoothly.

There was a momentary twinge of conscience; I had maimed this man, where I hadn't _really_ needed to. I supposed I could have just disarmed him. But then, I would have had an active, fighting opponent, while I was still bleeding from the wound he had dealt me, and the outcome may have been problematic.

I kicked the knife away; it skittered into the darkness. I'd find it later. When I let his wrist go, he sank to his knees, one arm clutching the other.

"Fuck," he moaned. "Fuck. It hurts. You broke my fucking arm."

I bent to pick up my wallet, keeping a wary eye on him. "Yeah well, you cut my arm, so I think we're even," I panted. My heart was racing. I didn't need this sort of shit in my life. Shoving the wallet in my jacket pocket, I clamped my hand over the cut in my sleeve, feeling the sticky wetness against my skin. "I'll just –"

I'd never heard the sound of a pistol being cocked in real life, but I had handled rifles before, and I had watched many movies, so when I heard it behind me now, I knew exactly what it was. For the second time in less than a minute, I froze.

"You'll just fucking _die,_motherfucker," grated a voice.

_Oh, for fuck's sake,_ I groaned internally. _There's _**_two _**_of them._

=/=/=

_Taylor sat back on the sofa, feeling her whole body beginning to relax. Holding a sausage in her fingers, she dipped it in the ketchup on the plate on her lap, and took a bite._

"_Good night, kiddo?" asked Danny, seating himself beside her._

_She nodded, grinning happily, leaning to the side and letting her head fall on his shoulder. "It was awesome, Dad. Thanks. Thanks so much."_

_He chuckled. "You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself."_

"_I wasn't sure about it at first," she admitted. "But when everyone was so supportive, so nice about it …" She paused. "Thanks for inviting Mr Allen."_

_Danny nodded, pouring soda into a plastic cup. "Want some?" he asked._

_She sat up again. "Ooh, thanks," she replied with a grin, accepting the cup._

"_Thank Mike," he replied with an answering grin. "He brought the bottle." He paused. "I could see you were talking pretty seriously with him for a bit there. Anything I need to know about?"_

_She held off answering until she had drained half the cup._

"_Yeah," she said at last. "I wanted to ask him about some stuff, so he listened to me, then gave me his opinion." She paused. "And then he told me that I should tell you about it."_

"_Oh, he did, did he?" Danny was amused. "And what, pray tell, was this about? Boys? The bullying?"_

_She shook her head. "It's more important than that, Dad. A lot more important."_

_Danny raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."_

_Taylor took a deep breath. "I've got powers, Dad. I'm going to be a superhero."_

=/=/=

"Listen," I called out. "This doesn't have to get any nastier than it has. Your buddy's not badly hurt –"

I stopped talking; there had been a kind of grunt, and a sigh, followed by the clatter of metal on pebblestone. Carefully, I risked a look around. A man was sprawled on the ground, one arm outstretched, a dark object that I took to be his pistol was a good yard away from his hand.

Standing over him was a slim figure; all I could make out in the poor light was that it was possibly female, with long black hair.

She moved toward me, as if she were taking a Sunday stroll.

"Come on," she said, putting a hand under my elbow to support me, "let's get you inside. I need to ask you some questions."

Her voice - with the accent that wasn't an accent – began to clue me in. But the next words she uttered sealed the deal for me.

"Door," she said. "Michael Allen's living room."

And without fuss, a doorway opened up in space before us. With her assistance, we stepped through, and she helped me sit down at the chair I used for my laptop.

She found the light-switches and turned them on without fumbling or hesitating once, then turned to face me. She was beautiful, wearing a woman's business suit. I nodded, once. It was definitely her.

_I really wanted to prepare more, before I met her._

_Ah well. The best-laid plans, and all that._

"Good evening, Contessa," I said. "Thank you for saving my life."

Her eyebrows rose. "You know who I am," she replied. It wasn't a question.

I smiled slightly, even as my arm twinged. "I know quite a bit about you – Fortuna," I confirmed. "But what I don't know is why you're here, now."

She jolted at the mention of her real name, her eyes widening slightly. I wasn't quite sure whether it was genuine surprise, or whether her Path to Victory was mandating these reactions so as to elicit my cooperation. Either way, it was working. I felt smug and knowledgeable, even as my instincts warned me that this was how she wanted me to feel.

"I came here to save your life, so that you would not die before you told me what I need to know from you," she told me, quite bluntly.

I tilted my head. "But you don't know what it is you need to know," I guessed.

She shook her head. "It is hidden from me. I just knew I needed to ask you, and you would tell me, and it would help somehow."

My head was beginning to clear, and my thoughts to race. "Well, before we have any sort of meaningful dialogue, how about we deal with my arm?" I asked. "And maybe my back? He poked me a couple of times with that damn knife."

=/=/=

Contessa probably wasn't a trained medic, but I would not have been able to prove it by results. Using the contents of a small pack she was carrying, she cleaned and dressed the wound on my arm, after helping me take the jacket off. Her movements were calm, efficient and effective.

There was one small puncture wound on my back, which she also put a small dressing on for me.

"Very well," she told me, pulling out a chair from my kitchen table and sitting opposite me. "The information you have; what is it?"

"The Endbringers and Scion," I replied. "How to stop them, and other useful factoids."

I paused; she waited expectantly.

I came to a decision. "I'll tell you Friday," I concluded.

Her gaze narrowed. "You will tell me now," she said quietly.

"I could," I admitted, "but then I'd never see you again, correct?"

She hesitated, then nodded, briefly.

"See, here's the trouble," I pointed out. "I'm just as invested as you are in saving the world, stopping the big nasties. But I also believe that there are people in the world who deserve to be saved. Who will get trodden under and hurt badly in the normal run of things. Now, I can't save them all. But I can give a few a second chance, and you're the only person who can help me with some of them."

She eyed me suspiciously. "So what can I do between now and Friday to save these people?"

I took a deep breath. "I'll be doing the saving, for the most part. I just need you to make it possible. Tip the odds, as it were."

Her lips tightened. "I am not your plaything, your puppet. I have other duties. You will give me the information _now."_

My heart was hammering. I was playing with fire now, and I knew it.

"Look," I pointed out. "I could ask you to do stuff for me, but as soon as you have the information, you're not compelled to do a damn thing. Seriously, how can I trust you to not simply walk away and never come back?"

She paused, considering this. To her credit, she did not even try to convince me that she would not do such a thing, given the opportunity.

Eventually, she seemed to come to a decision.

"Give me something," she said. "Anything. Something solid. And I'll do what you ask of me. But on Friday, I expect the rest."

I nodded. I was wondering, now, if all this had been predicted by the Path of Victory, and if I was simply painting by the numbers here, or if I had truly caught her off guard.

Whichever it was, I decided, I was getting what I needed. So I chose not to worry about it.

"Okay," I agreed. "I'll tell you about the Endbringers right now. I'll tell you about Scion on Friday night. Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay," she agreed. "What do you know about them?"

So I explained to her how they weren't actually living beings, that their substance was made up of an artificial crystalline matter that got steadily denser as it got in toward their cores.

"I knew most of this already," she told me impatiently.

"I was just getting started," I chided her gently. "At the core, they are denser than should be possible in our space-time. They should be so heavy that they fall through the planet. But they don't, because they cheat. All the time. Their blood isn't blood; it's there to look like blood. Their muscles aren't needed; they're there to provide body mass. They are nothing more or less than mobile artefacts, projections with more force, that will last beyond their creator's demise."

She stared at me. "They were _created?"_ she blurted. "By what madman? Who would have done such a thing?"

"I'll give you one guess," I said quietly. "Who is the one cape you can't predict, run a Path to Victory on?"

She was quiet for a very long moment.

"No," she whispered. "Not him. It can't be."

I nodded. "Sorry."

She stared. "But ... _how? Why_, by all that's holy?"

I took a deep breath. "You know how the source to all your powers operates. Call them shards, passengers, agents, whatever. They give you your powers, but they also give you something else." I paused. "A need for conflict."

She nodded slowly, reluctantly.

"And you know David's personal need for conflict," I went on. "He wants to push himself, get into a combat that truly scares him, to get that boost to his powers, lift himself to the next level."

Again, that reluctant nod.

"So," I concluded. "We have exhibit A; the most powerful and versatile powerset on Earth, short of Scion himself. Exhibit B; a man whose mind, conscious and subconscious both, is obsessed with testing himself, with finding a worthy opponent. Exhibit C; the fact that his powerset quite often acts outside of his conscious volition. And exhibit D; a shard that, like every other shard, actively promotes conflict. Mix those in together and tell me what you get."

I leaned back in my chair, winced as I pressed against the dressing on my back, leaned forward slightly. "Tell me it's _not_ possible. Tell me he doesn't have means, motive and opportunity."

She shook her head, but more as a rearguard action than as a flat-out denial. "It is so hard to believe ... he is a great hero."

"Yes," I agreed. "He is. He really is. He doesn't _know_ what he's done. All he knows is that the Endbringers are the perfect opponent. They can't be killed –" _Yet,_I amended silently, " – but they can be driven away, they will do terrible damage if not stopped, and he can go all-out against them."

She bit her lip. "How can I believe what you are saying?" she asked. "Even if it's true, how do I act upon it?"

I shrugged. _"You_ came to _me,"_ I pointed out. "Your Path to Victory led you here. And as for acting on it ... well, that's between you and the rest of Cauldron. I can't tell you what to do. Don't believe it, do nothing. Believe it ... do something. Your choice, your move."

"What happens," she whispered, then cleared her throat and spoke normally. "What happens if he is killed? Will the Endbringers ... dissolve?"

I shook my head. "But they should stop attacking human centres indiscriminately. Right now, they're acting under his subconscious direction. Kill him, render him inert, remove his powers, and chances are that we won't see any more attacks." I paused. "Or at least, so I believe. I can't know for sure."

She nodded. "Your vision is as cloudy as mine, then. Or just a little less so."

I shrugged again. "If he is killed by Scion, they become amenable to direction, after a fashion. They assist in the fight. If it's not Scion who kills him ... I don't know."

She stared at me. "You have _seen_ this?"

I half-smiled. "In a manner of speaking."

"But you are not a parahuman."

"Also correct."

Her gaze was puzzled. "I cannot work out how you know this. It is most frustrating."

I chuckled. "Trust me, you're better off not knowing. So. Good enough data to hold you till Friday night?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. "So what is it that you wish me to do before Friday?"

I looked her in the eye. "Several things, as a matter of fact. Starting on Sunday night ..."

=/=/=

"_So how long were you going to go before telling me about this?" asked Danny Hebert._

_Taylor drew in a deep breath. "I ... really don't know," she admitted. "Before Friday, I was ... in a bad place. You know this. You had things on your mind, I didn't want to admit that the bullying was still going on, because it would just cause trouble and get us nowhere."_

_She paused. "It was a vicious cycle, really. And me having powers, my preparation to be a superhero, was my way out of it. But I had to do it on my own, I had to prove to myself that I could do it. Escape from the shitty life at school."_

"_And the shitty life here at home, too, I suppose," he said, his voice soft, sounding disappointed._

_She shook her head. "No, Dad. Never. You've never been a disappointment to me. But ... when you were unable to do anything meaningful after the locker incident, you were so hurt. I didn't want to hurt you again."_

"_You know, it does hurt a little bit that you went to Mike and not me about this," he pointed out. "It also hurts a bit to know that Mike was the one to help you at the school, where I couldn't."_

"_Dad, it's his _**_job_**_," she pointed out. "And I asked him because ... well, I don't know. It just _**_felt _**_right."_

_Danny nodded. "I think I do," he told her. "He's an authority figure who's shown himself to be on your side. He earned your respect and gratitude – and mine – at the school. You think a lot of him. So you wanted to earn his respect. He said you'd be a great cape. The rest is easy."_

_Taylor flushed. "I don't think more of him than I do of you, Dad," she protested. "He's a great guy, but you're my Dad."_

_Danny hugged her. "I don't hold it against you," he soothed her. "Mike's just done more for you recently than I have. It's my job to redress that balance. So I'm gonna be a better Dad for you than I have been over the past few months, okay?"_

_Taylor laid her head against his chest. "I would have told you, really, if I had found the right place and time to do it," she told him. "It was just never the right time."_

_Danny nodded. "I know. It came as a nasty shock when you did tell me. But it was something that had to be done. You did say Mike told you to tell me?"_

"_Yeah," she said. "It was about the last thing he said before he went. Just to make sure I remembered, I guess."_

"_Well, I'm grateful for that, at least," Danny commented. He let her go and got up off the sofa. "I think I'll give him a call."_

_Taylor nodded. "Please don't yell at him too much."_

"_Wouldn't dream of it," he assured her._

=/=/=

"Absolutely not!" snapped Contessa. "You shouldn't even know about that! There is no way you get that sort of clearance!"

"Just for a once-off," I pointed out. "It averts so many problems, including Cauldron being outed, down the track."

Her gaze sharpened; had she been endowed with laser vision, I would have been toasted through and through.

"You are surely not making a threat ..." she began.

I shook my head. "Not me. Eidolon."

A look of utter disbelief crossed her face. "Not Eidolon. I accepted what you said earlier, but this ... not a deliberate betrayal."

"Well, okay," I admitted, "not Eidolon _specifically,_ but an evil clone, with his basic powerset. Which is why you can't see it."

"An evil clone," she repeated, disbelief heavy in her voice.

"I kid you not," I assured her. "He also kills Myrddin. But help me with this, that never happens, and you _not only_ get a bunch of capes who are willing to work for you, but you also get a huge advance on your ability to work out future problems."

"That's a big difference from Cauldron being outed," she observed.

"It is," I agreed. "Played right, that's what can be done. But I do need that clearance."

She took a deep breath. "I'll see what I can do."

"Appreciated," I told her. "And thanks again for saving my sorry ass."

She nodded, her expression wry. "I'm certainly paying enough for my good deed."

I had to chuckle. "Sorry for giving you a hard time like that."

She offered me a half-smile as she stood. "I suspect I may have needed that little lesson in humility. I do appreciate your assistance, if not the content of what you have told me."

"I just hope you can use it," I told her.

She nodded. "So do I." She raised one eyebrow. "You did realise that I could have had you taken by Cauldron and questioned extensively, and that they would have had all your answers within minutes?"

I nodded. "I did realise that. But you also realised that I could give you a set of nonsensical answers, and you'd never know the difference. I'm giving you these answers of my own free will. And that's how your Path to Victory told you to ask for them."

She looked a little put out. "I am not used to people knowing about that," she told me severely. "I hope you don't spread it around."

"Me?" I asked, spreading my hand over my chest. "I'm just a simple security guard. I know nothing about things like that."

"Indeed," she agreed, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "A simple security guard." Raising her voice slightly, she added, "Door."

A portal opened, beyond which was a white, gleaming corridor. She turned to me, and nodded once. "Friday, then," she said.

"Friday," I agreed. "See you then."

She stepped through, and it closed behind her. I let out a long pent-up breath.

_She could have taken me in so easily. But she didn't._

I pondered the matter for a moment. _I must figure into her PtV later on down the track, and dragging me in for questioning would disrupt that._

I was still trying to figure out whether that was creepy, cool or downright scary, when the phone rang.

* * *

I picked it up; it was Danny's number.

"Danny, hi," I said cheerfully. "I'm guessing you had that little chat with Taylor?"

He sounded somewhat aggrieved. _"Hello, Mike,"_he replied. _"I'm not sure whether I should be pissed at you or pleased with you."_

"I can understand that," I agreed. "I'm not a father, but I can imagine that it would be a horrible shock."

"_Actually, it kind of makes sense, now,"_ he admitted. _"A lot of little things adding up. Her running, to get fit. She's been just a little more secretive."_

"Okay, here's the question," I proposed. "Are you pleased she told you, or unhappy?"

"_Pleased that she told me, unhappy that this is happening at all,"_he replied at once. _"Thanks for asking her to tell me, by the way."_

"Hey," I assured him, "I promised her that I wouldn't tell you, but I figured you needed to know. But as for the fact of the matter ... whether you knew or not, she's going to do it, you do understand this, right? If you forbid her, she'll likely agree, then sneak out anyway."

He sighed, his voice heavy. _"Yeah. This does seem to mean a great deal to her."_

I chuckled. "'A great deal' doesn't begin to cover it," I told him. "It's basically the biggest thing in her life right now. She needs to do this. She needs to assert herself in this way. She needs to prove she can do it."

"_But I'm worried,"_Danny confessed. _"She's only fifteen. She's my little girl. She can't ... I'm scared that she'll go out and never come back."_

I took a deep breath. "Tell you what," I said. "I'll go out with her. Just to keep an eye on her."

The pause was so long I wondered if the connection had been broken.

"_You'll _**_do _**_that?"_he asked me.

"Sure," I confirmed. "I've always wanted to be a sidekick, anyway. First sign of trouble, I call for the cavalry."

"_And you're sure you can handle that?"_he asked.

I shrugged, although he couldn't see me. "I'd say 'how hard can it be' but that'd be asking for trouble. So let's just say, I'll be loaded for bear. Literally."

He took a deep breath, then released it, audible over the phone. _"If you can do that for me ... I would seriously owe you. More than I do now."_

"Actually, as for that," I observed. "You might be able to do me a bit of a favour. Suppose I asked you to put up someone for a month or so; a teenage girl, about Taylor's age. Would you be able to do it?"

"_Sure,"_ he replied immediately. _"That would be no problem at all. Is she in some sort of trouble?"_

"Not as such," I responded. "Just needs to get away from a fairly horrible home situation."

"_What do her parents think about this?"_ he asked next.

"When they find out, I doubt they'll complain much," I assured him. "But it's okay?"

"_Sure, it's okay,"_ he told me. _"Just give me a heads-up when and if, all right?"_

"I can do that," I replied. "So, tomorrow night?"

"_Yeah, tomorrow night,"_ he agreed. _"You will take care of her, won't you?"_

"She'll probably end up taking care of me, but yes, I'll do my best," I promised.

"_I suppose that'll have to do. See you then."_

"See you then."

I hung up and looked at the clock. I really should have been getting to bed, but I was still feeling too jumpy. I needed to do something to wind down.

I spun the chair around and booted up the laptop.

=/=/=

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**GstringGirl** has accepted your friend request.

You have (1) new message from **GstringGirl.**

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=/=/=

**Private message from GstringGirl:**

**GstringGirl *New Message*: **hi. you sent me a friend request?

**mack0813:** Why yes, yes I did. Want to chat sometime?

**GstringGirl:** i'd like that. what do you want to chat about?

**mack0813:** Anything and everything, really. Just ... there is one thing.

**GstringGirl:** what?

**mack0813:** I am not, repeat not, interested in meeting up. I'm sure you're a very nice girl, but I have my reasons. So I'll chat about anything under the sun, but I don't do pics and I don't do hookups. I'd prefer to keep my illusions about who I'm chatting to. Deal?

**mack0813:** Sorry about the rant. I've been burned before.

**GstringGirl:** sure, that's ok. i'm kind of that way myself. parents are really strict, and are really worried that I might meet someone nasty online.

**mack0813:** I did. Enough said. Lesson learned.

**mack0813:** So, anyway. What do you like to do as a hobby?

**GstringGirl:** oh, uh, Ive been playing this computer game called Space Opera, but I'm not really that good at it.

**mack0813:** Tell me about it. Pac-Man is about my speed. And I still suck at that.

**GstringGirl:** rly? wow.

**mack0813:** Wow what, that I suck at Pac-Man?

**GstringGirl:** no, that you've played it at all. Ive never known anyone who even admits to having played it before.

**mack0813:** Heh. Well, yeah, poorly. As for things like Space Opera, I've seen it, but seriously? They really expect me to memorise all those controls?

**GstringGirl:** i have trouble with it too. Ive done my best, but nearly everyone else I chat to doesn't understand why I have so much trouble with it.

**mack0813:** And that's all they want to talk about, right?

**GstringGirl:** oh, you have no idea. theyve got all their hints and tips and tricks, but if I'm not good enough to use them, what use is it to me?

**mack0813:** I hear you. Trust me, I know how that goes.

**GstringGirl:** so if you don't play Space Opera, what do you play?

**mack0813:** Online roleplaying games, mostly.

**GstringGirl:** ... im not sure what you mean by that. or does it mean what i think it does?

**mack0813:** ?

**mack0813:** Oh! Oh, no, not *that* sort of roleplaying.

**GstringGirl:** oh, thats a relief. i don't do cyber. it sounds kind of icky.

**mack0813:** Let's just say, it's an acquired taste. No, no, what I do is an online version of tabletop gaming.

**GstringGirl:** not sure what that is.

**mack0813:** Well, basically? It's all about imagination and escapism. Creating a story where you're the hero, and virtually anything can happen, because it's your story.

**GstringGirl:** ... still not sure I understand.

**mack0813:** Okay, let me give you an example. Or better yet, a demonstration. Imagine a clearing in a forest.

**GstringGirl:** all right, i'm imagining it.

**mack0813:** Okay, now imagine that you're standing in that clearing. Or rather, the character that you want to play. Who is that character, what does he or she look like, and why is he or she there in the first place?

**GstringGirl:** … what, I can be anyone?

**mack0813:** Sure. Describe yourself. Or rather, your character. Who you are, what you look like, has zero bearing in this case.

**GstringGirl:** are bad things going to happen in this?

**mack0813:** I prefer for good things to happen.

**GstringGirl:** ok, Im a slave girl on the run from a cruel master.

**mack0813:** … wow, that one came out of left field. This is good. I like it. Okay, what's the slave girl's name, what does she look like, what's she wearing?

**GstringGirl:** her name is Svetlana. she's tall and slender, with dusky skin, long dark hair, and flashing latina eyes.

**mack0813:** Flashing Latina eyes. You have a knack for description.

**GstringGirl:** you think so?

**mack0813:** Sure. I can see her already. What is she wearing?

**GstringGirl:** sort of a dancing girl outfit, but one that actually covers her.

**mack0813:** But a little bit torn because she's been running through the forest?

**GstringGirl:** but she's still totally modest.

**mack0813:** We can go with that, sure. Okay, now, we've established the character. I'll just fill in a bit more of the background, if you like.

**GstringGirl:** she's not his concubine, okay?

**mack0813:** Wasn't even going to go there. Okay, so. Svetlana is originally from a desert-dwelling tribe in the southern part of the continent of Anganda.

**GstringGirl:** Anganda? Where's that?

**mack0813:** Right next door to the island of Turok.

**GstringGirl:** this is like all those weird countries in Lord of the Rings, right? Mordor and Gondor and stuff like that?

**mack0813:** Exactly. Building a fantasy world, you can call things what you want.

**GstringGirl:** ok then. svetlana's from Anganda. her family's sort of like Bedouins, I guess.

**mack0813:** Sounds about right. Well, they were indentured servants to a really rich family, until there was a little trouble with Svetlana and the oldest son of the household. You see, because she's very pretty, he decided that it was his right to sample the wares.

**GstringGirl:** he didnt though, did he?

**mack0813:** No. Another housemaid saw you running past, and found him curled up in agony. Svetlana had kicked him exactly where you don't want to be kicked at a time like this.

**GstringGirl:** the stomach?

**mack0813:** … yeah, we'll go with that.

**GstringGirl:** she got in trouble for that, didn't she?

**mack0813:** That generally happens when you do that sort of thing, I'm afraid.

**GstringGirl:** so what happened then?

**mack0813:** Well, her father was ordered to pay recompense, and he couldn't even begin to afford that. So there was only one alternative. Your character was sold into slavery.

**GstringGirl:** and that's how she became a slave girl?

**mack0813:** That's how she became a slave girl.

**mack0813:** So anyway, she was shipped up to Lantara, in the northern part of Anganda, to be sold off as a troublesome slave.

**GstringGirl:** but that's not fair! she was only defending herself!

**mack0813:** Unfortunately, indentured servitude is only about one step above slavery in that part of the world, so yeah, fairness doesn't come into it. So anyway, you were sold off to a merchant called Janji. Older guy, a little creepy, fat and repulsive. Never bathed, just rubbed scented oils into his skin to hide his body odour.

**GstringGirl:** sounds disgusting.

**mack0813:** Just a little bit, yes.

**GstringGirl:** so when do I escape from him?

**mack0813:** Not yet. First off, you were taken on board ship. Old-style sailing ship. You think Svetlana would have been okay, or seasick?

**GstringGirl:** maybe sick the first day or so, but fine after that.

**mack0813:** yup, sounds good. Janji … not so much. He pretty well colonised the rail the whole trip.

**GstringGirl:** hahaha the wimp. So how long was the trip?

**mack0813:** About a week. The island of Chadan lies between Anganda and Turok, and the captain wanted to give it a wide berth.

**GstringGirl:** whys that? whats so bad about Chadan?

**mack0813:** When Svetlana asked one of the sailors, she was told that Chadan was a 'death island'. People don't go there. The stories go that even ships that drop anchor in the waters around Chadan are not seen again.

**GstringGirl:** did I get the impression he was trying to frighten me? i was thinking, if people don't go to Chadan, it might be the perfect place for a runaway slave to hide out.

**mack0813: **Not really. You got the impression he was being perfectly matter-of-fact. Water is wet, the sky is blue, people don't go to Chadan.

**GstringGirl:** huh. ok, so maybe its not the best idea to jump off the ship and swim in to the shore.

**mack0813:** Well, there's that. Also, swimming in open water is fairly hazardous.

**GstringGirl:** hazardous, why?

**mack0813:** Well, there's the seadrakes, the long-necks, the megalodons and the ones they called Death From Below.

**GstringGirl:** what are all those?

**mack0813:** Seadrakes are dragons that are adapted to the ocean. Long-necks are basically plesiosaurs. Megalodons are eighty-foot great white sharks. And Death From Below … have you ever heard of the marine dinosaur they call Predator X?

**GstringGirl:** not really, but I can look it up.

**mack0813:** Okay, sure. Crocodile head, four big flippers, short tail. Used to hunt plesiosaurs, back in the day.

**GstringGirl:** you mentioned dragons.

**mack0813:** Oh yeah, didn't I say? There's dragons.

**GstringGirl:** ok, now this is starting to sound cool. but I have a question. why do ships even go out on the ocean with all those nasty things out there?

**mack0813:** Because the average ship is a hard target. All of those critters are solo hunters, so they'd have to work to sink a ship. And in the meantime, the sailors are doing their best to kill the predator. So they usually go after softer prey.

**GstringGirl:** well, that makes sense. so, what happens? we go around Chadan, the 'death island', and we get to … what was it? Durok?

**mack0813:** Turok. You land at a port to the north-east corner of the island of Turok. You don't know much about it except that there's a kingdom called Mornas there, and they're all barbarians who don't speak Angandan, or even Lantrai. And there's all these *trees* here.

**GstringGirl:** whats so odd about trees?

**mack0813:** You're a desert dweller, remember. Trees, for you, come in small clumps. Outside the port, there are *forests*. It's really weird, not being able to see past the treeline.

**GstringGirl:** oh right. yes, that would be strange.

**mack0813:** Jeez, look at the time. Sorry, but I really think I should get to bed.

**GstringGirl:** oh sry i didn't mean to keep u up.

**mack0813:** Eh, I'm a big boy. So, wanna keep playing once I get some sleep?

**GstringGirl:** yes, plz. i want to see how svetlana gets out of this.

**mack0813:** Sweet. Well, g'night, G-girl.

**GstringGirl:** good night mack.

=/=/=

_Sveta logged off the computer and carefully placed her body on the sleeping shelf. She was tired; it had been a long time since she had spent so much time chatting to someone. But it had been fun, too. Mack didn't try to pry, and he didn't want to chat about Space Opera. And she wanted to see where the story with Svetlana the slave girl was going._

_It was nice to chat with someone who just treated her like an ordinary person._

_Smiling slightly to herself, she coiled her tentacles loosely around her sleeping perch, and drifted off to sleep._

=/=/=

I rubbed my eyes as I watched the laptop power down. That had been fun. And if Sveta thought the idea of seadrakes was cool, wait till she met the hearth-dragons.

But as enjoyable as that had been, I really needed to get some sleep.

Standing up, I stretched – wincing as I inadvertently tugged on the dressing on my arm – and headed off to bed.

Tomorrow, after all, was another day.

* * *

End of Part Six


	7. Chapter 7

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Seven: Calm Before the Storm

* * *

I woke at five thirty in the morning, with the alarm blaring in my ear. All over again, I experienced that same feeling of disorientation, of being in the wrong place. Lying there, in that half-awake state that can so easily go either way, I considered seriously the notion that somehow I was indeed stuck in a dream of some sort. After all, I still remembered sitting down to write up the fanfic placing my self-insert character into Winslow High.

Perhaps I had gone out that night for whatever reason, and gotten into an accident. Maybe I was in a coma, either traumatic or induced, and my subconscious was filling in the long blank with the story I had intended to write. After all, author-falls-into-story fics were not exactly unknown, being the most blatant of SIs.

Being in a coma would explain why I had not woken from the dream, if dream it was. But I found myself reluctant to accept that idea, much less act on it. Maybe my very success so far was proof that it was a dream after all, but then, maybe I had just been lucky. After all, the knowledge I had been able to display, coupled with a confident attitude, had probably done the trick.

I thought back to the scene in the story where Dragon and Defiant, along with the Wards, confronted Taylor in the cafeteria at Arcadia. Without costume, without weapons, with barely any bugs to call on, Taylor still had them bluffed, by sheer virtue of her reputation as Skitter.

I suspected that, without even knowing it, or intending to, I had pulled off much the same sort of stunt with Armsmaster and the Director. The Wormverse, after all, was a place where the power to level buildings could reside in the frame of a deceptively slight teenage girl, and people knew it. In such a world, it only made sense to be wary of someone who showed confidence in the face of adversity; all too often, where cape powers were concerned, such confidence would be shown to be entirely justified. Given their experience, Emily Piggot and Colin Wallis were not the sort of people to take unnecessary chances in that regard.

My attitude, coupled with the information I had so casually dispensed, had given them pause, long enough for them to think about what I was saying. I wasn't quite sure what their final assessment of me was, but there was probably a cape mixed into their theories somewhere. After all, it was almost an article of faith in the Wormverse that it took a parahuman to really accomplish anything of importance. I was an anomaly, one that didn't fit into their patterns, so they made a pattern to fit me into.

I rolled over, and as if on cue, my mind switched on to a different track.

* * *

Taylor was going to go out tonight.

I had more or less railroaded her on to this path as a part of my campaign to build up her self-esteem, but I had begun having second thoughts almost immediately afterward. Sure, she had the armour costume, sure she had the milspec pepper spray, sure she had the screamer. But she also had a different attitude, more confident, and that would likely cause her to approach the matter in a different way. And this just might kill her. I was terrified that I was sending a fifteen year old girl out to be immolated and gutted by an unstoppable killer.

That was if she even encountered Lung, of course. But if she didn't, if the ABB went on their way, and Lung met the Undersiders while he was still at full strength, while they were fighting Oni Lee, the results could be deadly for the teen villains.

I didn't want that to happen; I had a certain amount of feeling for them.

Brian, for all his flaws, was trying to do right by his sister. Lisa wanted out from under Coil's thumb - and was in some danger of becoming a replacement for Dinah if and when the Alcott kidnapping failed - and Rachel just wanted to be left alone with her dogs.

Alec ... I had less sympathy for. Yes, he didn't have much in the way of finer feelings. Sociopath, almost certainly. But this wasn't his fault; growing up with Heartbreaker would twist almost anyone's mind. And he did do that thing for Taylor - or rather, would have, if Shadow Stalker wasn't already on her way back to juvenile detention. And he would also have sacrificed himself to save Aisha's life, in a future that probably woudn't happen now anyway. But the potential was there.

* * *

Long story short, I didn't really like the idea of any of the Undersiders dying just so that Taylor could have an easier time of it. So I had decided to see if I could arrange matters for the best possible result; the Undersiders surviving, Lung defeated, and most importantly, Taylor coming out of it alive and hopefully with a win under her belt.

A lot of this, of course, hinged on Contessa's ability to manipulate matters behind the scenes. Or rather, her willingness to use that ability to assist me, in return for the information about Scion. She wanted it badly; or at least, I hoped she wanted it as badly as I thought she did. If she screwed me on it, would I still give her the information, just to save the world? Or would I descend to the pettiness of the rest of the world, and hold out, just to spite her?

I surely hoped that I would never have to find out. I strongly suspected that I would give up the information before I would let the world burn; if this was true, and Contessa knew it, it would be easier for her to simply ignore some or all of my requests, and simply hold out her hand for the information on Friday.

But then, there was the alternate outcome I had mentioned; the outing of Cauldron by Eidolon's clone, and the death of Myrddin. She could not plan to stop that, because she could not fit Eidolon into her Path to Victory ...

* * *

This was doing me no good. My mind was going around and around in circles, and I was reaching no useful conclusions. But nor was I finding my way back into the sleep state from which my alarm had so rudely jolted me.

I threw back the covers and sat up, then paused to consider; if this was a dream, it was a remarkably detailed one, if I was irritated about being woken up from a sound sleep within that dream.

My feet found the floor, and I flinched. I was still not used to the chill of Brockton Bay early mornings. It wasn't quite as cold as the time I had visited Jersey in February, quite a few years ago, but it was cold enough, thank you very much.

As I stretched, the cut on my arm twinged sharply, drawing my attention to it in no uncertain terms.

_Oh yeah, that happened, didn't it?_

I found the slippers, pulled on the dressing-gown, and padded off to the bathroom. There was a reasonably equipped medical kit there; I cut up a plastic bag and wrapped it around the dressing, sticking it in place with medical tape. When I was fairly sure that it would stay dry, I got into the shower. At least the water was hot and plentiful. I faced into the spray, letting the water run over me, feeling my head clear.

* * *

My priorities gradually emerged from the chaos. I had undertaken to go out with Taylor; when I had said I would be going loaded for bear, I had meant with all the equipment Michael Allen possessed for dangerous security work; stab vest, baton, pepper spray, screamer, concealed firearm. But I wondered, now, if I owned anything I had not yet discovered. This was, after all, America.

Finding Lung and the ABB would not be a problem; if I chose to find them, we would find them. But what we would do once we found them was still very much up in the air. If she knew it was Lung to begin with, would she still want to engage? If she knew that the 'children' she was attacking him to save were villains, would she still choose to save them, or let the matter go?

If she chose not to attack, then I could not very well force her to change her mind; coercing a teenager to launch an unprovoked attack on a highly dangerous cape was a very bad idea. I would be far better off if she chose to attack; I would then be able to offer safe alternatives for poor tactics.

_Safer_ alternatives, I corrected in my own head. When it came to cape battles, there was no such thing as 'safe'.

But I knew the pitfalls, and so I would do my best to steer Taylor past them. It wasn't just saving the world; I wanted Taylor, herself, to be happy and secure and alive. Reading the story, I had felt her pain, her unhappiness as her world repeatedly unravelled around her, leaving her to bear the burden of action, to do what needed to be done, no matter how much it hurt. But still, she was merely a character in a story, until I had unexpectedly arrived within the story myself.

Now, she was real. Her pain was real. _Danny's_ pain was real. I knew her story from beginning to end, the pain, the betrayal, the struggle, the hurt. What she would be forced to do, just to fix things, to make things work.

She didn't deserve to have to make the choice to shoot an infant child, to save Aster from the tender mercies of Jack Slash, the only way she could. She didn't deserve to be the one to condemn five capes to death along with Noelle Meinhardt, to make the call while everyone else stayed silent. She didn't deserve to suffer the endless bullying from the three girls, from the day she began high school to the day she chose to never attend again.

That last, I could only curtail; the bullying had been done, the damage inflicted. Pain, from which she would never really recover. The scars would run deep, for the rest of her life. But those girls would never have that hold over her again; that, I could ensure. Noelle Meinhardt would never become Echidna; that also, I could ensure. Aster Klara Anders would grow up to become the delight of her mother's eye; I would do my best to give both her and Kayden a second chance they never had in the story, a second chance they would never know about.

I didn't know how long I would survive in Brockton Bay, doing the things I was doing. Sooner or later, someone of note would pay attention to me, and something would happen to me. Best case, I would be recruited by one side or another. Worst case, I would be disappeared. But before that day came, I would do my best to ensure that the worst would not come for the rest of the world.

It was the least I could do.

=/=

With such morbid thoughts running through my head, I finished drying myself off, and got dressed. The dressing had made it through the shower intact; I stripped off the plastic cover.

There was a closet in my room that I had not gone through, and now I did.

_Maybe I own a shotgun,_ I thought idly. _A pump action shotgun, like the one I nearly bought that one time. That would be kind of cool._

And I did find something. But it wasn't a pump action shotgun. It was something that was much more familiar to me.

The case was stamped metal, with a padlock holding it closed. A separate locked metal box was marked MAGS AMMO CLEANING. I found the keys on my keyring, opened the padlock. Lifted the lid, and unwrapped the oily rags from around the long shape within.

"Well, shit," I said out loud as I looked down at what I had found. "Looks like I never got rid of it."

I lifted the gun off its nest of rags, pulled back the cocking handle to ensure that there was nothing in the breech, then let it _clack_ forward once more. The action worked smoothly. Then I held it to my shoulder and dry-fired it; the crisp _click_ brought back memories.

* * *

Many years ago, when I had been temporarily in funds, I had decided to buy a rifle. I had a weapons permit, due to family connections, and I wanted to own a gun. I was in my twenties; this seemed to be the thing to do. So I had quite legally purchased a second (third? Fourth?) hand M-1 carbine. I _had_ actually nearly bought a chromed pump shotgun instead, but the cost of ammo had dissuaded me.

I had fun with my carbine; I went out to a local firing range and put a good many rounds through it – relatively low-power ammunition, so fairly cheap – before taking it home and going through the ritual of cleaning it. Two fifteen-round magazines had come with it, and I purchased a thirty-round magazine – ostensibly for an M-2, but it would fit the M-1 – a little later. It would have been the height of illegality to carry it openly with a fully loaded magazine of either size in it, so I never did. But it was still fun to own, and go shooting at the range occasionally.

A shooting spree at a holiday resort was what put paid to my gun ownership days. It was decreed that all previously legally owned semi-automatic rifles and carbines were a danger to the population, and so my gun was bought back by the government – for less than I had originally paid for it – and destroyed.

However, it seemed that in this reality, Michael Allen had never had to give it up.

* * *

I put it back into its case and re-wrapped the oily rags around it. Carefully, I locked the case, and put it back into the closet. I was thinking hard. The gun, unloaded of course, would fit behind the seat of my pickup.

An M-1 carbine threw a pistol-strength .30 calibre round, but the other locked box – I investigated - held both soft-nose and hollow-point rounds. And it would fire as fast as I could squeeze the trigger, which would put a large number of those rounds downrange in a very short time.

It wasn't a modern assault rifle; it wasn't even a pump-action shotgun. But it was still a gun. Designed for ease of carrying and use, it would serve to dissuade random ABB thugs, and may just tip the balance (or at least serve as a distraction) in a battle with Lung.

I would take any advantage I could get.

=/=

Back in the bathroom, I washed the gun oil off of my hands, and headed into the kitchen. I was in a thoughtful mood as I poured milk on to my cereal.

This was my third morning in Brockton Bay, and I had already caused a good many butterflies to go on their way. Moreover, I was planning to send a good many more around and about. Tonight's excursion with Taylor would probably cause a few, just on its own. I hoped that it would not make Contessa's job any harder than it had to be.

I flicked on the TV; the programming was evenly divided between Sunday morning church services, and rebuilding efforts in those cities that had been hit most recently by Behemoth and Leviathan. The damage caused by the Simurgh was a good deal more subtle, and far more dangerous, as I understood things.

With a shudder, I turned it off again. I could not let myself watch too much, or I might simply give up hope. Most people simply accepted what was going on; for those under thirty, it had been a fact of life for them since birth. I knew, or thought I knew, that it could be changed, could be fixed. _How_ it could be fixed.

Not by me personally, of course. But I could set up the dominoes, send them toppling.

Knowledge, properly applied, has a power all of its own.

=/=

Around about nine o'clock, I picked up the phone and dialled Gladys Knott's number.

This wasn't part of any long-term world-saving plan that I was hatching; I just felt that it would be nice to spend time with her. When one is on the wrong side of forty, one does not turn down the opportunity for friendly companionship. Especially from a lady with whom one has already shared a kiss.

She answered the phone with a chuckle. _"Good morning, Michael,"_ she greeted me. _"Did you sleep well?"_

"I did indeed," I told her. "Are you busy this morning?"

"_Just a little," _she replied._ "Why do you ask?"_

Her tone of voice told me that she knew perfectly well why I was asking. I grinned and shook my head.

"Oh, just wondering if you'd like to actually go out and get that coffee at some point," I commented casually.

"_Well,"_ she told me, with equal casualness, _"I will be grading projects until about eleven thirty. If you're free then, I would positively __**adore**__ the chance to go out and get some coffee."_

"That sounds reasonable to me," I told her. "Eleven thirty, right?"

"_Indeed,"_ she confirmed. _"I'll see you then?"_

"I'll be outside," I agreed. "Bye."

_"Goodbye, Michael."_

* * *

I put the phone down again, and regarded it pensively. I didn't know if I was being too needy, too eager, for human companionship. Back home I hadn't needed it quite so much, but then, back home I didn't have so much weighing on my every move either. I didn't think I would be unburdening my every problem on to Gladys' shoulders, but it would be nice to spend time with her.

And talking about that, there was someone else that I needed to spend time with as well; or rather, someone who needed to spend time with me. I sat down at the laptop and booted it up.

=/=

**Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.**

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=/=

**mack0813:** Knock knock, anybody awake?

**GstringGirl : **hi mack. how are you?

**mack0813:** fighting fit and twice as ugly, you?

**GstringGirl : **... what?

**mack0813:** heh, sorry, it's a thing I say.

**GstringGirl : **ah, I see. is it supposed to mean anything?

**mack0813:** Not overly, I suppose. So, is Svetlana ready to kick ass and take names?

**GstringGirl : **yes!

**GstringGirl : **i mean, unless you want to chat about something else.

**mack0813:** That's your choice. Never let it be said that I stand between a lady and her roleplaying.

**GstringGirl : **actually, before we start, can I ask you a sort of personal question?

**mack0813:** You can ask. I don't promise to answer.

**GstringGirl : **okay, I guess thats fair. what does the 'mack' in ur username mean? Is it ur actual name, or are u into trucks or something?

**mack0813:** Heh. Neither, really. It's a sort of mix of my first name and middle name. I got called it years ago, and it kind of stuck. Now only my really close friends know to call me it. And since I've moved, that's basically no-one. You're the first person to call me that name in like forever.

**GstringGirl : **oh, sry. didnt mean to bring up bad memories

**mack0813:** Hey, is all good. It's nice to have someone calling me by that name. Everyone around here calls me by my real name, and that's boring.

**GstringGirl : **oh ok, if it's all right then?

**mack0813:** Yeah, no worries. Though you got me curious now too. Can I ask if there's a funny story behind your username, or is that too personal?

**GstringGirl : **its sort of personal. can we not talk about that plz?

**mack0813:** Not talk about what? I was asking you if Svetlana was ready to go, and we got distracted by some totally unimportant stuff.

**GstringGirl : **yes, shes ready to go. Thanks.

**mack0813:** No worries. So. Do you remember where we were up to?

**GstringGirl :** We had landed in a port on this island called Turok, in a kingdom called Moris or something?

**mack0813:** The kingdom is called Mornas. It basically covers the top third of the island of Turok. Turok's about twice the size of Alaska, by the way.

**GstringGirl :** thats some island

**mack0813:** It surely is. So anyway, Svetlana's pretty well got her sea legs by the time the ship berths in the harbour. There are these things squawking over the harbour that look like seagulls but have teeth as well as beaks. You know of them; in fact, true birds don't really exist in this world.

**GstringGirl :** where do they get eggs from?

**mack0813:** There are these lizard-like things, about the size and shape of chickens, with feathers across the backs and down the arms to make sort-of wings. But they're mainly scaly, and they have lizard heads with teeth. They lay a sort of leathery skinned egg, about the same size and shape as a chicken egg.

**GstringGirl :** ive noticed there's a lot of dinosaury things about this world.

**mack0813:** Why yes, yes, there is. Funny, that.

**GstringGirl :** is there a reason for this?

**mack0813:** Does there need to be a reason for dinosaurs?

**GstringGirl :** i suppose not. Dinosaurs are cool too.

**mack0813:** Yes, they are. So anyway, as Svetlana strolls down the gangplank, and Janji stumbles after her, looking like he's lost about ten pounds, and smelling like something scraped from the bottom of a privy barrel ...

**GstringGirl :** so about the same as normal, then.

**GstringGirl :** you still there mack?

**mack0813:** oh god, laughing so hard that it hurts. Seriously, I nearly just fell off my chair.

**mack0813:** You get an experience point for that.

**GstringGirl :** a what?

**mack0813:** Okay, I'm basically making up this system on the fly, but an experience point is something that you can spend at any time to make something good happen, to make something that was already good even better, or to make a bad thing not happen. I just gave you one. Spend it wisely.

**GstringGirl :** do I have to spend it right away?

**mack0813:** No, just remember that you've got it. Any time you want to change what I've just said happens, tell me you're spending your experience point.

**GstringGirl :** so how do I get more? do I have to say other funny stuff?

**mack0813:** No, I'm basically giving them out when you show you're really getting into the game. Like just now. You just came out with that comment without even thinking about it. So any time you come up with an awesome bit of roleplaying, I'll give you one. They're meant to be few and far between, so don't strain yourself. Just be yourself, and have fun. You'll get more. You're a natural at this.

**GstringGirl :** oh wow thanks. you have no idea how much that means to me.

**mack0813:** Hey, is all good. I calls 'em as I sees 'em.

**mack0813:** So. As Svetlana comes down to dock level, with Janji stumbling after, and looking like he wants to fall on the dockside and kiss it, she is struck by the sheer multitude and variety of people going by. This is a busy port.

**GstringGirl :** Svetlana looks around. What does she see?

**mack0813:** There are men with every shade of hair from white through red to black, and other men with dark skin, darker than hers. There are men wearing what look like dresses, and women wearing men's clothing and carrrying weapons. Among all this, Svetlana, wearing her dancing girl outfit, is unusual only because of her beauty. And then she sees something else.

**GstringGirl :** What's that?

**mack0813:** She hears a screech, somewhat different from the toothy gulls. Looking up, she sees a couple of flying things, about the size of a large cat – though domestic cats don't exist here either – squabbling over half a fish. One is bright blue, one is bright red, they have iridescent wings ... yeah, they're dragons. Small enough to sit on your shoulder.

**GstringGirl :** dragons? Really? Small dragons? Are they cute?

**mack0813:** Oh yeah. Even squabbling like they are now, they are so cute it hurts. Now, you've heard of these things before, but you'd never seen them, so you'd never really thought about them. They're called hearth-dragons, and they're one of the three types of dragons you've heard of.

**GstringGirl :** oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh

**GstringGirl :** that's what svetlana says

**mack0813:** Haha so cute. Yes, okay, you get another experience point for that.

**GstringGirl :** oooh thx. Um, what are the other types of dragons?

**mack0813:** Well, there's the hearth-dragons. They're supposed to be cute – you can attest to that – and friendly and mischievous. They're also supposed to bring good luck. Then there's the drakes. They're about twice the size of a large horse, and they're savage and carnivorous. There's nine different types, but most of them fly and all of them will eat you alive.

**GstringGirl :** wow. thats a bit of a difference. whats the third type?

**mack0813:** No-one knows for sure if they really exist or if they're just legends. They're called the Ancient dragons, or the Ancients for short. People swear to them, not like gods, but like really powerful beings. "By the Ancients", stuff like that. No-one you know has ever seen one, or has ever met anyone who's seen one. But they were supposed to be huge. Really big. And seriously powerful. Intelligent, talking, and really good at magic.

**GstringGirl :** magic? theres magic too?

**mack0813:** Well, that's what people call it. People use it too, but not quite in the same way. With humans, it's broken down into three aspects; the Way, the Art and the Craft. The Way focuses inward; it's sort of like training for anime martial arts. The Craft is like Tinkers do, building stuff that shouldn't work but does.

**mack0813:** And the Art focuses on living things and the world around you, things like making it rain and making crops grow. A master in the Art can heal wounds on someone, but it takes hours or even days of concentration. It's very slow, gentle and gradual. But it works.

**GstringGirl :** wow it sounds like youve thought about this a lot.

**mack0813:** I've been putting it together over a while, yes.

**GstringGirl :** so can Svetlana do any of this stuff?

**mack0813:** She's never shown any aptitude, sorry. Besides, indentured servants and slave girls don't exactly get the chance to go off and practise with magic.

**GstringGirl :** I'd like to see if she can learn it sometime.

**mack0813:** That can definitely be done. Once you get away from Janji, that is. Remember him? Your smelly, smelly master?

**GstringGirl :** Oh god how can i forget

**mack0813:** So anyway, Svetlana is staring up at the dragons overhead, when suddenly she is jerked forward by the slender chain that is fastened to her wrist. It's basically the way they keep track of slaves. Less intrusive than a collar around the neck.

**GstringGirl :** Svetlana moves forward obediently, while glancing upward, hoping to catch another glimpse of the cute little dragons.

**mack0813:** You see another couple as you are led through the streets of the port city. One that looked bright green, and one was a golden yellow.

**GstringGirl :** oh so adorable. now I want one.

**mack0813:** well, you've heard they're friendly. All you've got to do is find one that wants to make friends.

**GstringGirl :** Svetlana is definitely looking out for that now.

**mack0813:** ... and the chance to run away?

**GstringGirl :** oh, that too. definitely that.

**mack0813:** Well, on that note, I'm going to have to run away myself, sorry. Real life yanks on my chain, and like Svetlana, I have to obey. But I will return.

**GstringGirl :** ok mack. its been really nice chatting to you. and sry about being rude about my name.

**mack0813:** I recall no rudeness. We're both adults. I asked; you didn't feel like answering. Is all good. And just by the by, it's really nice chatting with you too. I'm having fun running this game.

**GstringGirl :** thats good, because I'm having fun playing it. and I'm learning so much about this world. It feels so real.

**mack0813:** Trust me, G-girl, I know exactly how that feels.

**mack0813:** Actually, question. Is it okay to call you G-girl, or do you have a nickname you'd prefer I use?

**GstringGirl :** I hadn't really thought about it. i guess ... would it seem weird if I asked you to call me Svetlana? after my character?

**mack0813:** Weird? Not in the slightest. So you'd like me to call you Svetlana?

**GstringGirl :** ... yes, I think I would. I really would. Thanks, Mack.

**mack0813:** You're welcome. And anyway, Svetlana's a cute name. I like it.

**GstringGirl :** oh, uh, it's just one i came up with on the spur of the moment

**mack0813:** Well, it's cute anyway. But yeah, gotta make like a nervous shepherd.

**GstringGirl :** ?

**mack0813:** And get the flock outta here.

**GstringGirl :** hahahahahahahaha bye mack

**mack0813:** Bye Svetlana.

You have signed out of Private Chat.

=/=

_Sveta logged out of the chat, and eased away from the computer. It was so nice talking to Mack. He never made any demands, never asked awkward questions, or if he did, let the subject drop as soon as he realised._

_He was **nice** to her. Gentlemanly. Polite. Made jokes, but never at her expense, and laughed at her jokes. **And he's having fun running the game for me. He said so.**_

_She turned to the book she was using for her drawings, and turned to a fresh page. Slowly, carefully, she began to draw a picture of a dusky-skinned slave girl called Svetlana, with a blue dragon on one shoulder and a green dragon on the other._

_As she worked, she hummed, and her tendrils waved gently around her smiling face._

=/=

I shut down the laptop. The time was ten forty; enough time to freshen up and get dressed in smart casuals, just the thing to go out for coffee in. I still had a smile on my face from the chat with Sveta. She was really starting to get into the impromptu game, and I was enjoying it myself.

I had no idea how to bring about a good end for Sveta, but I could and would be her friend.

=/=

This time round, I found my way to Gladys Knott's front door relatively quickly. She was expecting me; I barely had time to knock once before she opened the door. She was dressed in slacks and blouse rather than a dress today, and looked quite fetching.

"You're early," she observed.

"Yeah, sorry," I acknowledged with a sheepish shrug. "I didn't want to leave you waiting, so I headed out early, and I guess I didn't get lost this time."

She smiled indulgently. "Come on in," she invited. "I have orange juice in the fridge if you're thirsty."

"Actually, I wouldn't say no," I told her. "I appreciate it."

Carefully wiping my feet, I entered, closing the door behind me. The living room was dimly lit, compared to the glare outside; even after taking my sunglasses off, I was still left blinking.

"Have a seat," she directed me, pointing at a comfortable-looking sofa. "I'll get that juice."

Making sure not to kick or bump anything, I made my way to the sofa and sat down, leaning back as I sank into the cushions.

"Wow," I said, "this is nice. Really nice."

"Thank you," she replied, looking pleased. She brought over a glass of juice, then returned to the computer.

"Grading schoolwork?" I guessed, sipping at the juice.

"You know it," she agreed, typing a few words then hitting Enter. "They said that bringing computers into the classroom would make work easier. From what I see, it just gives the teachers more work to grade. _Not_ an improvement."

"Yeah well, I think I'll stick to my job," I observed cheerfully. "I just have to tell the little ratbags where to go and what to do. I'll leave the hard bit to the experts." She wrinkled her nose at me.

She finished the grading at about the same time as I finished the orange juice; I rinsed the glass in the sink, then turned to see her stand up from the computer and stretch. I watched with interest; I might not be twenty any more, and nor was she, but there were still a few curves under that blouse. She turned, and raised her eyebrow as she caught me looking.

"Ready to roll?" I asked her. _Wanna make something of it?_

She smiled. "Always." _Not in the slightest._

=/=

"So there he is. It's a one-way stretch of road. One lane. The sign says Do Not Enter, and he's pulled up right in front of it, waiting for this other car to come through. It's dark, so he's got his headlights on. He's in this van, so his point of view is higher up. I mean, he can't _not_ see the damn sign, right?"

Gladys nodded, and took a sip of her coffee. I drank from my iced chocolate milk.

"Please tell me that he didn't drive down," she said, in tones that made it clear that she knew exactly what was coming.

I shrugged. "As soon as the other car was clear … he drove down." A pause, while I had some more chocolate milk. "Now, I'd been watching him. I didn't quite believe that he was going to do it till he did it, but I had eyes on, so when he started down, I stepped on to the road."

"So what did he do then?" Gladys seemed to have forgotten her coffee.

"Well, in that situation, there's two types of people," I elaborated. "The ones who basically go, oh crap, there's a security guard, and start reversing immediately. And then there's the type who try to bluff it out." Another shrug. "He tried to bluff it out."

Gladys did not speak; she merely closed her eyes and shook her head sadly.

I grinned and went on with the story. "So he comes on down. I'm wearing a reflective vest, so he stops. Leans out the window and asks me what the problem is."

Gladys' eyes were wide. "He didn't," she stated flatly.

I nodded to contradict her. "He did," I confirmed. "Now, I'd seen his plates as I walked up, from someplace down south, Louisiana or Florida or someplace, I forget exactly. So as I came up to his window, I put on a drawl and told him that I could tell he was from one of the southern states, so I'd speak slowly."

Gladys choked back a giggle. "You _didn't!"_ she accused me.

I chuckled. "I surely did. Then I asked him if Do Not Enter meant the same down south as it did up here; I was kind of curious." I rolled my eyes. "And that's when he said, 'Oh, I didn't see the sign.'."

Gladys shook her head again.

"So of course, this gave me the perfect opportunity to be sarcastic at him," I went on cheerfully. "I pointed out that he'd been sitting there, waiting for the other car to come past, with his headlights shining directly on the sign. So there was either something wrong with his headlights, with his eyes … or with his brain."

Gladys had her hand over her mouth now, trying to stifle her giggles.

"So he told me I didn't have to be so rude. I told him that this wasn't rude. Rude would be if I pulled out my camera and took a photo of him, in his van, pointing the wrong way down the road, and then handed said photo to the police. I was merely being polite and asking him to take his heap of crap van, and reverse it down the road and … well, and out of my life."

Gladys snorted laughter. "I just _bet_ you were that polite too," she chuckled dryly.

I grinned. "I might have thrown a few more words in, yeah," I admitted. "Anyway, I told him that if he wanted rude, we could do rude. I was good with rude. It was his choice." A shrug. "He chose to reverse."

She drank more coffee, having gotten her mirth under control. "I'm not surprised, given the choice you handed him. But weren't you a bit harsh with him?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Gladys, I'm surprised at you. And you a teacher and all."

"Why, what do you mean?" her voice was curious.

"I mean," I told her, "that you should know the number one rule for getting kids to learn something."

She frowned. "I don't see … oh!" she exclaimed. "You have to get their attention. And you got his attention."

I nodded. "I did," I confirmed. "I doubt that he'll ever forget that little encounter."

She returned my nod. "Somehow, I suspect you're right." We shared a grin of perfect understanding.

* * *

I finished off my milk, and debated getting another one. While I was thinking about it, Gladys leaned forward.

"I just want to say, Michael," she said, and put her hand on my arm. Specifically, on the dressing under my shirt sleeve. My wince was minimal, but she still picked up on it. "Michael? What's the matter with your arm?" Her voice had gone from warm to concerned in an instant.

"It's nothing," I claimed evasively. "Just a little cut."

"You didn't have this last night," she told me. "When did you get cut?"

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "I, uh, got mugged," I told her. "He got the worst of it, I promise," I added quickly.

"Really." Her voice was sceptical.

"Really," I repeated. "He was going to stab me, so I fought back. I got cut, and he got a broken elbow out of it. I managed to make it inside, and I suppose he staggered off somewhere."

"Take me home immediately," she ordered me. "I want to check how bad it is."

"It's good, honest," I tried to tell her. "I'm fine."

"And when were you going to change the dressing?" she asked me tartly. "Or have it seen to by a medical professional?"

I shrugged uncomfortably. "When I got the time," I mumbled.

"Just as I thought," she muttered. _"Men."_

I didn't have a choice; I drove her back to her place.

=/=

My sleeve wouldn't roll up that far, so she had me remove my shirt. I was acutely aware of my overweight, hairy torso, but she was briskly professional about the whole thing. Carefully, she removed the dressing, causing me to suck my breath in as she pulled the last bits free.

"Well, it's clean, and doesn't seem to be inflamed," she informed me critically, as if she had been expecting far worse. "You didn't do this one-handed. Who patched you up?"

"A, um, bystander," I extemporised. "She saw it happen, helped me inside, put the dressing on, then left." Which was, broadly speaking, true.

Gladys shot me a suspicious glance – there were holes in my story, and we could both see them, but she wasn't going to push this just now – and went back to her examination of my arm. "This needs stitches, really," she told me.

"Just a bandage will do me just fine," I responded. If I was going to be exerting myself, I did not want to be pulling stitches.

She pursed her lips but did not argue. Carefully, she cleaned and disinfected it again, then applied a new dressing. She'd had training at some point; I could tell. When she was finished, she examined the dressing on my back, the one I hadn't bothered covering for the shower.

"You shouldn't let these get wet," she scolded me, peeling it off.

"It's only a small cut," I defended myself.

She prodded it with a sharp fingernail, making me yelp. "Well, it seems to have closed all right," she told me, "but that was still a silly thing to do."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know," I admitted. "But I've got a lot on my mind at the moment, and I really, really wanted to just get out and spend some nice time in your company."

"Not your bystander?" she asked with an arch look, but I could tell she was pleased.

"She had places to be," I responded. "And besides? Not my type." I reached for my shirt. "Okay to put this back on now? I feel kind of exposed here."

She nodded. "Yes, please," she agreed dryly. "As much as I like you, I don't believe that we have reached that point in our relationship _quite_ yet."

I chuckled a little self-consciously as I put my shirt on. As I was tucking it in, she leaned in toward me. "But I did enjoy myself quite a lot today," she added softly. "Thank you for that."

"I, uh, thanks?" I said awkwardly. "I've really enjoyed this too …"

"But," she went on, "you've glanced at your watch three times since we got back here, so I presume you have some place to be. I don't want to keep you."

I jerked guiltily; I had not been aware of checking the time. "Sorry," I apologised. "Like I said, things on my mind. But I've really enjoyed talking to you too."

She nodded encouragingly; I cleared my throat. "So … another time?"

"Another time," she agreed, "when you're not quite so distracted."

Reluctantly, I got up from the sofa. I really, really didn't want to go.

"Thanks for checking my arm," I said belatedly.

She smiled and shrugged. "Any time. Just get it seen to properly, all right?"

I nodded. "I will."

* * *

I put on my sunglasses as I walked outside; as I got into the pickup, I saw her standing in the doorway, watching. I waved; she waved back.

I started the engine and drove off. It wasn't the hardest thing I'd ever done, but it was in the top ten.

With an effort, I dragged my mind away from distracting thoughts of Gladys Knott. I had to get my head in the game. I had to gear up, then get over to the Heberts' and pretend that I knew what the hell I was doing. Taylor was depending on me to get it right.

I just hoped to God that I could pull it off.

* * *

End of Part Seven


	8. Chapter 8

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Eight: Fight!

* * *

My mind was still somewhat disorganised when I got back to my flat. I had wanted to stay, to sit on the sofa and talk with Gladys. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to see where that went.

But I had to get my head in the game. The first thing I did was take a shower, as cold as it would go. Mid-afternoon, the cold water wasn't freezing, but it wasn't far off of it. The plastic bag I wrapped around the dressing kept out the water, again, so I would not draw more ire.

=/=

After the shower, I went looking through my clothing for anything dark. Dark blue, dark grey, black; it wouldn't matter. Urban camo clothing would have been the best, but it appeared that my taste did not run that way.

A light T-shirt went on under the stab vest, then I started layering clothes. I had to pick them with care; I didn't want too many layers, or I'd sweat to death. But I did have certain requirements.

I assembled my outfit with as much care as any deb ball belle arranged the pleats and folds of her dress. Heavy boots and thick socks, check. Outer clothing all cotton or wool; nothing that would melt and stick to the skin if it caught on fire, check. Pockets to carry magazines in, check. A hooded jacket, check. A scarf to wrap around my face if necessary, check. Shoulder holster over the shirt but under the jacket, check. My equipment belt over the top, check.

=/=

When it was all on, I walked around the flat, swinging my arms around, seeing how it went. It was a little confining, but I could handle it. With the hood up and the scarf around my face, I went into the bathroom to see how I looked. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing; I looked at least fifty kilos heavier than I really was.

Pulling the hood down, I tried on a watch cap, and it was an improvement; my ears weren't quite so muffled, and I had better peripheral vision. On the downside, it did less to hide my identity.

I fiddled around a bit more, before opening the gun case and the ammo box. The M-1 went over my left shoulder. I filled the magazines, and found that there were about five rounds loose in the box afterward; on reflection, I decided to leave them there. If I couldn't do the job with sixty rounds plus what I had in the Glock in the shoulder holster, I had no business bringing the gun out at all.

Shrugging the carbine off my shoulder, I double-checked that the breech was empty, then pulled a magazine from my pocket and pushed it into place. The push-through safety clicked into place; now, even if I accidentally yanked the cocking handle and chambered a round, it would not go off. Safety precautions thus satisfied, I walked around the flat some more, seeing how it hung with first the butt and then the barrel uppermost. Then I tried shrugging it off my shoulder, seeing how quickly I could get it into action from either angle.

=/=

Roughly forty years previously, when I was far too smart for my own good, and far too young to know better, I had suffered a mishap through my own silly fault, which had left me without the top half of the index finger on my right hand. Despite my innate right-handedness, I had thus learned to utilise my left hand for some things that required an index finger. One of these, as it happened, was the use of firearms; toy guns at first, and then real ones. By the time I graduated to guns that fired actual bullets, all my reflexes were geared toward left-handed gun use. So it goes.

The M-1 carbine is a weapon designed for use by right-handers. A southpaw can fire it, but then has to either let go of the fore-stock with the right hand and yank back the cocking handle when it misfires - which it does, on occasion - or let go with the left hand, reach awkwardly across the weapon, and do the same thing. The magazine release is likewise in an awkward position for a left-handed shooter.

And of course, the ejected shells are thrown out to the right and rear of the weapon, which means that for the most part, a left-handed shooter will be struck in the right shoulder by an empty casing after every shot. Or, if he is particularly unlucky, the hot brass will go down his shirt front. I could attest, from personal experience, that this was no fun whatsoever.

All of which made taking the carbine out on this particular expedition a matter requiring some deliberation. But I decided that the extra firepower was the deciding factor here, even taking into account the extremely dodgy rear sights on this particular carbine. I could get reasonable groupings out to about ten yards, which was all I really needed.

=/=

I was set; removing the jacket and shoulder holster, I shoved them in my work bag along with my equipment belt. The carbine, sans magazine, went into the bag as well, barrel first. Its stock protruded a little from the top of the bag, but I wrapped a towel around it, which sufficed to get it down to the pickup and out of sight behind the seat.

Locking the pickup, I headed back upstairs and booted up the laptop. I spent a little time thinking about what I wanted to say, then I started to type. What I ended up with was a series of lists of instructions and information for Taylor, for Danny, and for Director Piggot. These I encrypted, placed on to memory sticks, dropped into addressed envelopes, and left beside the computer.

On to the last memory stick, I loaded a series of instructions in plaintext, some of which had to do with defeating Scion, and some which did not. On a separate line, I added, 'Ask Tattletale.' That memory stick went into my pocket; if I were to die by some mischance, Contessa would of course be able to retrieve the data, and Lisa would be able to intuit which were the correct instructions. But it was hopefully hazy enough that she would not be tempted to simply bypass the middleman and grab the data.

Next, I logged on to the Parahumans Online server.

=/=

**Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.**

You are currently logged in, **mack0813**

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You have no infractions and no warnings.

=/=

**mack0813:** Hey, Svetlana, you around?

**GstringGirl:** Oh hey. You're back.

**mack0813:** I am, but not for long. Sorry.

**GstringGirl:** Awwww…

**GstringGirl:** Do we have time for a bit more of the game?

**mack0813:** I'd love to, but I have to rush again. I just dropped in to let you know that I might be offline for a bit. I'll try not to be, but you know how things go.

**GstringGirl:** oh ok mack.

**GstringGirl:** it's not something I said is it?

**mack0813:** Oh god no. Far from it. I am seriously enjoying our chats. I'm a little behind time right now, but I just wanted to get on and give you a heads-up about me maybe not being able to get on for a little while. Just in case, so you don't think I've forgotten about you.

**GstringGirl:** oh, thanks. i appreciate it. i hate it when people just stop talking.

**mack0813:** Hey, that'll never be me. You're my best girl. *hugz*

**GstringGirl:** thank you mack, thank you. That means so much to me. *hugs*

**mack0813:** Listen, gotta go. But I'll be back on when I can. Okay?

**GstringGirl:** okay Mack. I'll see you when you get back. Goodbye Mack.

**mack0813:** Bye Svetlana.

You have signed out of Private Chat.

=/=

In the memory stick addressed to Taylor was the request that she log on occasionally with my username and spend time with Sveta. It wouldn't quite be the same, but it was the best I could do.

I clicked 'Shut Down' on the laptop, and stood up while it powered itself down.

It was time to go.

Taking one last look around the flat, I let myself out, leaving a light on to make it appear as though someone was still home.

No-one had disturbed the pickup; I got in, pulled out into the courtyard, and drove out on to the street.

=/=

"Are you really sure you want to come out with me, Mr Allen?" asked Taylor dubiously.

She sat on the back steps, beside her father. I leaned on the rail, more or less where I had been standing when she had raised the question about becoming a superhero in the first place. The sun was sinking below the horizon to the west, and the sky was purpling over.

"I think it's best, yeah," I told her. "You'll be taking lead, but I'll be there to advise. Give you a feel for being a cape without totally hanging out in the breeze."

"In other words, a babysitter," she observed, though the words lacked heat.

I grinned; she wasn't altogether wrong.

"Not really, kiddo," Danny put in. "He's got experience in dealing with people."

"So have you, Dad," she responded. "I notice you're not volunteering." She elbowed him gently in the side.

He chuckled, and elbowed her back. "Let's have some respect for the old man," he told her. "No, Mike's a better choice than me. He was a taxi driver before he was a security guard; if anyone's got experience with shady people, it will be him."

"Wow," I commented cheerfully, "that was such a _ringing_ endorsement."

Taylor laughed, and Danny chuckled again. "You know I didn't mean it that way, Mike," he protested.

I nodded. "I know," I agreed. "I was thinking, we could drive around a bit, give Taylor a chance to gather together a bitchin' swarm, get a feel for the way the evening's going, then we could find a trouble spot and see what happens."

"Ooh," Taylor responded, her eyes lighting up behind her glasses. "That sounds awesome. Is that okay, Dad?"

Reluctantly, he nodded. "I know you're going to want to go out on your own sooner or later, kiddo, but I'd much rather you started out by going out with Mike."

"That's the general idea," I confirmed. "Think of it as a kind of test run. And we can talk about cape stuff. I have ideas on how capes should do things."

"Despite the fact that you're not a cape," pointed out Danny dryly. Taylor smothered a chuckle.

"Laugh it up," I told them both with a grin. "But think about it; what does a security guard do, but what a cape does, on a much smaller scale, and without powers to back him up?"

That made them both look very thoughtful indeed.

"You may actually have something there," Danny admitted.

"Wow," Taylor added. "I never thought of it like that before."

I shrugged. "It's not something people tend to think about."

"You got that right," Danny said, heaving himself to his feet. "I'm going to put dinner on. Lasagne all right, Mike?"

"Lasagne sounds great, Danny," I agreed. "Need a hand?"

"Sure. You and Taylor can keep discussing matters while we put it on."

=/=

Once the lasagne was on to cook, we adjourned to the living room and watched some TV; in the ad breaks, I discussed the finer points of Taylor's powers with her. At my behest, I had her close her eyes and bring in arrays of bugs to see if she could pick up a meaningful picture from the TV screen. She couldn't, but then again, monitor screens had always been a problem for Taylor.

We were in the middle of an experiment in which she was plugging her ears and listening through the ears of various bugs, with only middling success, when Danny announced that the lasagne was cooked.

"I think it actually depends on the bugs you use," I pointed out over dinner. "If you can get an array of bugs, with different hearing qualities, you should be able to learn to filter out the too-high and too-low sounds, to approximate normal hearing."

Taylor considered that idea with her head on one side, while Danny shook his own head.

"Too strange for me," he decided. "I'll support you, whatever you want to do with your powers, but don't ask me to come up with new uses for them."

Taylor hugged him warmly. "Thanks, Dad," she told him. "That means a lot to me."

=/=

We finished dinner and I chatted with them while they washed up – I was not allowed to participate, being a guest – and then Taylor looked at the clock.

"It's late enough," she observed. "Time we should be going?"

I leaned sideways and looked out the window. "Looks fairly dark out there," I commented. "I figure you're right."

"So how are we going to do this?" asked Taylor. "Take the costume with us and I get changed out there?"

I chuckled and shook my head. "Put it on and put a jacket and sweatpants over it. When we find something for you to do, you take off the jacket and sweats, put the mask on, and you're ready to roll."

"But before you go," Danny added, "can you get the whole thing on? I want to get photos."

"What, really?" she asked, startled.

"Really," he confirmed. "My daughter, the superhero. How can I not?"

She blushed to the roots of her hair, and hugged him again.

=/=

We took the photos in the basement; the raw concrete walls gave the pictures more impact. She posed, first without and then with a swarm around her; it was eerie, seeing just those blank yellow eyes looking out from the midst of a swarm of buzzing creepy-crawlies.

"I can't believe that you made this all yourself, and I never knew," he marvelled, feeling one of the armour panels. "You could probably make serious money creating costumes for other people, you know."

Again, she was startled. "I could?"

I nodded. "Oh, definitely," I agreed.

She looked thoughtful all of a sudden. "Well, it's definitely something I'll think about," she acknowledged. "But for now, I just want to be a superhero."

"Well, o lady of the bugs," I intoned with a mock bow, "your carriage awaits. Let us go a-superheroing."

"Is that even a word?" she asked, giving me a look after pulling her mask off.

"Is now," I grinned. "I just used it."

She wrinkled her nose as she pulled on the jacket and stepped into the sweat pants. "I don't think that's really how it works," she commented. She turned to her father, and hugged him. "Bye, Dad. I gotta go be a superhero now."

He hugged her back fiercely. "You just come home safely, kiddo," he told her softly; his voice had just the suspicion of a catch in it.

Letting her go, he shook my hand. "Take care of my little girl, Mike."

I squeezed his hand in response. "I'll do my best. You've raised a good kid here."

By degrees, we got out on to the sidewalk, and Taylor got into the passenger seat of the pickup. I got in as well, and started the engine. We pulled away from the curb, leaving Danny standing forlornly there.

He was still standing there when we turned the corner.

=/=

Taylor looked over at me. "I have a question."

It was a little while before Taylor was due to clash with Lung, but I had no worries on that score. So instead, as I had told Danny, we cruised around and parked here and there. Bugs in the area converged on the pickup, swarming into the trayback. Even after the first few stops, we had the makings of a particularly nasty swarm.

I had chatted to her, used what she had already revealed to me about her powers to make suggestions. Swarm clones were something she was already working on outside the pickup; when I suggested using bugs to tag the joints of a foe to keep track of them in melee, she became quite thoughtful.

I knew that she would have thought of these ideas, and more, on her own – her power, combined with her own natural creativity, was a wellspring of such concepts – but if we leapfrogged over the first few basic concepts, it left the way open for her to evolve more interesting ideas of her own, faster than before.

But we were well into the slow cruise around town, slowly easing in on the location that the fight was to take place at, and she made that statement.

"I may have an answer," I responded automatically.

"No, really," she insisted. "I have a serious question. It's simple and it's serious. Why? Why me? Why me now?"

I blinked, taken aback. "I … don't get what you mean," I evaded.

She chuckled darkly. "I just bet you don't." She turned her head and a nearby streetlight reflected from her glasses, giving her a creepy blank stare for just a moment.

"I've been thinking about it," she went on. "You knew exactly when and where to walk into that bathroom, to catch those girls at it. You knew to have a voice recorder running. You knew _something_ to say to that woman with Sophia, that made her overrule Mr Barnes. You had all your ducks lined up in a row, specifically to catch those girls bullying me, and to make the bullying charge stick. You didn't miss a trick."

I was silent. I wanted to see where she was going with this before I said anything more.

She nodded, as though I had just confirmed something. "There are other kids being bullied at Winslow; there have to be. But you picked me, and you changed _everything_. Even after we went home, you said something to the principal to get me transferred to Arcadia. And then, when Dad invited you to the party, you listened to me, and you said the exact right things to make me open up to you. You _knew_ I had powers before I ever told you, didn't you?"

"Hm," I commented, neither acknowledging nor denying her allegations. The kid was sharper than I'd thought; that, or I had been much less careful than I had intended.

Again, she nodded. "So why? What's so special about me? If you were going to save me from bullying, why now? Why not six months, a year, eighteen months ago?" She broke off, looking sideways at me. "I wondered for a while if you were some sort of sketchy pedo, but you don't give off that vibe. You've never so much as looked at my chest. So I get that you're trying to help me, but I don't get why, and I don't get why now." She took a deep breath. "And I _really_ don't get how you know so much."

I turned my head to look at her. "When I said you were always looking, always thinking, I was serious. But I honestly didn't think you'd see through me this fast, Taylor."

She ducked her head, pleased, but then raised it again. "That doesn't answer the question," she pointed out.

"A full and truthful answer to the question would be … fundamentally impossible for you to believe," I told her honestly.

"Really," she riposted, the word loaded with sarcasm.

"Really," I repeated, my voice mild. "But I will tell you a story, which is close enough to the truth to not matter."

That got her attention; I cleared my throat.

"I'm a time traveller from the year twenty fourteen."

"Three years," she answered, giving me a look of respect. "I've never heard of anyone travelling that far in time. Can you go forward again?"

"I can't travel in time myself," I made the hasty addendum. "It's a sort of … one-time thing. So to speak."

"Okay," she acknowledged. "Time travel. Got it. Go on."

I chose my words carefully. "Where I'm from, when I'm from, the story of what happened in your time, and thereafter, has been noted down in considerable, if spotty, detail. I'm a kind of student of this story, you might say."

"Which is where you get the knowledge from," she replied, nodding.

"Which is where I get the knowledge from," I agreed. "And part of this knowledge is that the world is teetering toward an end, and one of the people who is instrumental in preventing the whole thing from going entirely down the drain …" I let my voice trail off.

She got the implication. "Me?" she squeaked, her voice hitting a higher register than she'd intended. She cleared her throat. "Me? What do you mean, me? I've just got bug powers."

I chuckled. "Believe me, Taylor, by the time you're well started, there are many, many people who have good reason not to underestimate 'bug powers'."

She was silent for a few moments. "So … you're changing things. Are you supposed to be changing things?"

"I don't know," I told her honestly. "I _am_ changing things, yes. But I'm being specific about it. Some of the troubles come about due to people not knowing crucial information early on. I'm making sure they _do_ know it."

"Okay," she tried again. "Are you supposed to be stopping the bullying? Was I supposed to tell Dad? What if this makes me … I don't know … unfit to save the world?"

"There's more than one way to save the world," I told her frankly. "I know the _whole story_, remember. I know other ways it _could_ be done. And as for you … well, I know you and your life from this point, the way it would have run. It would not have been pleasant for you. And I am as fond of you as I would be of my own daughter, if I had one. Honestly? I couldn't _not_ stop the bullies, given the chance." I grinned at her. "And you're not the only one I'm helping out of a bad spot."

She stared at me. "So you're just doing this to help me now because you … _like_ me?"

I nodded. "You're a good kid. You have it within you to be a great superhero. I wasn't joking, then. I'm not joking, now."

Another long silence from her. "If you hadn't intervened … at the school … what would have happened? Tonight?"

"Okay," I told her. "On Friday, you would have taken the bus home, because all your stuff was covered in juice and soda. You would have found that your black and white speckled notepad, the one you've been keeping a coded record of your cape preparations, was soaked through, ruining some of the pages."

"I found it," she confirmed, sounding just a little surprised at my revelation.

I nodded. "Well, you would have decided to go out tonight. About midnight, after you were sure your father was asleep. But he hears you go out, and he lies awake, waiting for you to get back."

"Oh, man," she whispered.

"Yeah," I agreed. "When you get back, the next morning, he talks to you and you lie; you say you were just going for a walk."

She shook her head. "That's not good."

"Remember, in that timeline, you're in a bad headspace. No-one's on your side."

Reluctantly, she nodded. "So … what happens? What's so important about going out tonight?"

"Well, you see, tonight is when you do two important things," I told her. "One is to beat a bad guy. And the other is to meet some villains."

"Who's the bad guy?" she asked immediately. "And which villains?"

I shook my head. "Gonna have to keep some things under wraps for the moment, kid. If you know too much, or think you do, ahead of time, this could throw things out of alignment."

She looked displeased at that, but didn't argue.

"So, have I answered your questions to your satisfaction?" I asked in turn.

"Sort of," she admitted. "But I've got a lot more I want to ask now."

"Ask," I invited her. "I might not answer. But before you ask, I want a count of every person in your range, excluding us."

She was silent for a moment, her lips moving silently. "Seventy-six," she reported. "Do I get a boyfriend?"

"Yes and no," I told her. "That's something you're going to have to find out for yourself. Next question? And how many of those people are men?"

"Forty-three," she reported. "What happens to me after I meet the villains in the other timeline?"

I opened my mouth to tell her, then paused. "I … don't want to jinx it," I temporised. "See above regarding knowing too much."

She snorted. "For an all-knowing time traveller, you're real close-mouthed when you want to be."

"Mysterious oracle one-oh-one," I retorted with a grin. "Never let them know everything at once."

"Mysterious oracle my –" she began, and then my phone rang.

"Sorry," I told Taylor. "Gonna have to take this."

She looked more than a little annoyed as I plugged in the earpiece that was already stuck in my ear; a hanging mic let me speak.

"Hello?" I said after hitting the green button.

The voice was Contessa's. _"It's time. Take the third left."_

I started the pickup, and started moving forward. Turning to Taylor, I said to her, "Okay, grab all the bugs you can from here on in. It's time."

White-faced, even in the dim light, she nodded. "Gotcha."

=/=

I followed Contessa's directions to the letter; I doubted that she was looking at a map, or even knew where we were. She was just saying what her power told her to say, to get us to a certain point in space at a certain point in time.

I idled the pickup through an alleyway and stopped when she told me to, the nose of the vehicle six feet from the far end.

"_Two blocks to your left from the end of the alleyway," _she said, and hung up.

I sat for a long moment, before setting the handbrake, putting the vehicle in neutral and turning the engine off. "This is it." My voice sounded strange in my ears.

"What?" asked Taylor.

"Down to the left, two blocks," I told her. "Can you detect them?"

"Ah," she noted, eyes widening slightly. "Fourteen people, in a building, gathered together." She paused for a moment. "My bugs are finding … guns, I think."

"That's the ones," I stated. I got out, pulling my bag with me. First, I slipped into the shoulder holster and then the jacket, and then I buckled on my equipment belt.

On the other side of the pickup, Taylor was taking off the jacket and sweats, and attaching armour panels. I pulled the seat forward, and unwrapped the towel from the M-1 carbine. Taking a magazine from my pocket, I slipped it into place, seating it with a firm _click-clack._ Then I pulled back the cocking handle, letting it run forward, chambering a round with another _clack._ Carefully, I set the safety, then slung the carbine, barrel downward, over my left shoulder.

Taylor was watching, wide-eyed, as I pulled the Glock 29 from under my jacket and pulled back the slide just a little way to ensure that a round was indeed chambered. I looked up as I returned it to the holster.

"What?" I asked.

She shook her head slightly. "You didn't say you'd be bringing _guns."_

I grinned slightly, without humour. "Never said I wouldn't. I'm here to watch out for you. And I'm serious about it. Anyway, have you decided on a name yet?"

We had discussed those during the drive around; I had brought up a few, including Skitter, Weaver, Hive, Queen and a couple of others. Taylor hadn't been able to make a choice.

She took a deep breath, then shook her shoulders to make sure the armour panels were fixed properly. "Let's go with Weaver for the moment." Pulling the mask over her head, she tugged her hair out through the back of it. And as easily as that, she went from teenage girl to creepy cape.

"Good choice," I noted. "Let's do this thing."

We exited the alleyway and started walking toward the left. The street was unlit, but there was enough ambient illumination to place our footsteps quietly.

We were about half a block away when people started exiting from a two-storey building. A lighter flared as someone lit a cigarette.

_Damn, _I thought. _Contessa's timing is scary good._

=/=

Reaching out, I made to draw Taylor – Weaver – in toward the side of the building we were standing beside. I needn't have bothered; she was already there.

"They're ABB," she whispered, her voice very slightly distorted by the mask, but not enough to make her hard to understand. "I recognise the colours."

"Right," I murmured. "Got bugs on 'em all?"

"Will in a moment," she replied absently. "We have to get closer. We won't be able to hear anything from this distance. But they might see us."

"Use your bugs to scout the terrain," I suggested.

She nodded seriously, and a moment later looked at me. "There's a fire escape on the back of that building."

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed.

* * *

We backtracked slightly, wending our way through trash-strewn alleyways, until we located the rusty fire escape. Weaver went up first, light and agile, and I followed on behind. It creaked and groaned under my weight, but held.

At the top, she was going to head forward to listen in, but I put my hand on her arm. "Okay, more information now," I told her seriously. "The bad guy you're going to take down is Lung. He regenerates like it's going out of fashion, and the madder he gets, the bigger he gets. He grows metal scales over his body as he gets bigger. He can breathe fire, and he can cover himself in it, so once you start attacking him, hit him with everything you can, as hard as you can. Soft tissue areas. Got it?"

"Got it," she nodded, and went to move off. I didn't let go of her arm. She looked at me quizzically.

"Two more things," I added. "When he gets big enough, he has enough super-strength to leap on top of this building … and he has super-hearing. Just so you know."

"Super-strength and super-hearing," she repeated carefully. "Got it." She paused. "Why am I attacking him again? It seems like a really good reason to _not _attack him."

I waved her forward. "Go. Listen. Make your own mind up."

She stared at me for another moment, then nodded, and moved forward to where Lung was now addressing his troops.

I pulled my phone out and spent the time typing out a text.

* * *

_Cape fight in progress._

I gave the address.

_Lung involved._

_Security._

* * *

I sent it to Director Piggot's phone.

My phone had just returned a Message Sent acknowledgement when Weaver returned, moving carefully but quickly.

"He's telling them to kill _kids!"_ she told me; the indignation was clear in her voice. "I can't let that happen!"

"I've already notified the PRT, but it'll be a while before they get here," I observed. "Someone's gonna have to slow them up."

"I'll do more than _slow them up,"_ she snapped.

And then I heard the first yells of pain and alarm from the front of the building.

=/=

The temptation to go and see what was happening was considerable. However, I had no desire to be torn apart or barbecued. And it was fairly obvious what was happening.

The swarm which we had gathered had fallen upon the hapless ABB thugs. A few stings and bites had sufficed to send them scattering to the four winds. Some even ran past in the alley below us.

Once they were gone, the swarm focused its efforts upon Lung.

I really, really wanted to see this. I really, really knew that going to look was a bad idea.

I could hear him roaring and thrashing around, and I saw tongues of fire reaching toward the sky. I couldn't tell what was going through Weaver's mind as she directed the swarm in on him; at one point, she went to speak, and I held out my phone to her, a notepad function enabled.

_Set himself on fire,_ she typed. _Can he do that?_

I nodded, the motion just visible in the dark.

_Not fair,_ she added.

I shrugged. Took the phone back, and typed, _Time to go?_

She typed, _Hes not down yet._

I frowned and nodded. When were the Undersiders supposed to show up? The timeline wasn't exact. Had we jumped the gun?

_Go anyway,_ I typed. She nodded in agreement, and gestured for me to go first. I figured she could keep up with me easily, and so I stepped on to the fire escape.

* * *

And that was when the M-1 carbine swung slightly, and the down-hanging barrel struck the side of the fire escape with a clear, metallic _clang._

And the noise at the front of the building ceased. I heard – we both heard – a noise that was more bestial than human, which indicated satisfaction.

A brief pause, maybe a heartbeat or two. And then the _crunch_ as Lung hit the side of the building, maybe three-quarters of the way up.

"Oh, shit," she said clearly.

I concurred exactly.

"Down," I told her. "Now."

She didn't argue. We bolted down the fire escape.

This was _not_ in the plan.

* * *

End of Part Eight

* * *

_[Author's Note: Evil cliffhanger because I'm evil.]_


	9. Chapter 9

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Nine: Heroes and Villains

* * *

There was no need for quiet now; Lung's enhanced hearing was obviously working just fine. I thundered down the fire escape, my weight causing it to shudder and groan as I leaped down three and four steps at a time.

"Go go go!" I shouted, making room for Weaver to get past me. She could move faster than me; if I had miscalculated, and Contessa was pulling some plan to take the details for Scion's demise off my smoking corpse, at least Taylor Hebert would have a chance at survival.

She slipped past me, dancing down the steps where I crashed and banged. Lung didn't need super-hearing to hear _me_; he could probably hear me through earplugs. But once we hit ground level …

"Did you blind him?" I yelled over the sound of my own progress.

"How did you –" she began, then stopped herself. "One eye only!" she continued.

Which meant that his other eye was perfectly fine.

_Fuck._

=/=/=

Weaver had hit ground level; I was still a few yards above what I considered safe jumping distance. Above us, I heard a bellowing roar, which I interpreted as the words, "I see you!"

I leaped down another couple of steps; the rusted metal creaked and groaned. If he thought I was going to stop, just because he knew where I was …

A rush of heated air, a smashing concussion on the ground below. Lung straightened from a crouch, covered in metallic scales, at least half again as tall as I was. Flames licked around his body.

"Too slow," he rumbled in a feral growl. "Time to die." I saw him look up toward me, obviously preparing to do something supremely nasty to me. Probably immolation in a fireball. I could have tried to reverse course, run away, but that would separate me from the teenage girl already in the alleyway. And I wasn't going to abandon Taylor.

And then Taylor straightened up from her hiding place, almost directly beneath me. Her arm was straight out, in her hand was one of the items I had given her the previous night.

Lung's head twitched around to stare at her, just as she squeezed the activation button.

A stream of liquid sprayed out toward his face. It almost missed, but a twitch of the wrist corrected her aim, and she angled it so that it tracked neatly across both eyes. There was a minor explosion as some of the liquid ignited on contact with the flames that wreathed him, but the majority got through.

He bellowed in agony – I decided absently that I would write a commendation for the product supplied by that company – and clawed at his eyes with one hand. The other was sweeping around in a direct collision course with Taylor's slim body.

I knew she was wearing spider silk armour. I knew she might be able to take the hit. But I didn't care. I was already vaulting over the railing, and falling. Almost right on top of her. Pushing her aside.

Taking the hit.

It _hurt._

=/=/=

If anyone had chosen to ask me, afterward, exactly how Lung hit, the phrase 'like a freight train' would be very high up on the list. But it still lacked a certain amount of detail.

Lung's hand was larger than my head. It swept around at what would have been chest or throat height for Weaver. Razor talons led the way; in a blood and thunder novel, there would have been extensive descriptive phrasing regarding the way the metal claws split the air like a sword splitting silk. I don't know about the air, but he certainly tried to split _me_ into several unequal sections. Or rather, tried to split Taylor. I just got in the way.

The impact slammed into my abdomen, lifting me off my feet and sending me hurtling backward more than a few feet, before I landed, rolling. I thanked every messy impulse that had led people to drop their trash in this alleyway, right where I'd landed. Soft trash bags, so much nicer than concrete or asphalt. I wasn't able to do much more than land and roll; my entire torso was a mass of pain, and there had been an ominous crunching sound, one that I felt with my whole body, as he hit me.

_Ribs,_ I figured. _Maybe sternum._ From the feel of it, the stab vest had saved me from being eviscerated, but only just.

My rolling fall – no acrobatics there, just momentum – fetched me up against a brick wall with bruising force. It didn't help that every time I rolled on to my back, I rolled over that damn carbine. I lay there, stunned, trying to figure which of the lights dancing around my head were real, and which were a result of blunt force trauma.

It was, I decided muzzily, a good idea to have Lung hit me instead of Taylor. Even if her armour proved capable of deflecting his claws – not something I'd like to field test – she would have hit the wall in a ballistic arc, and flexible armour is not good against solid impacts.

* * *

"C'cks'ck'r!" Lung bellowed, the flames around him intensifying by the second. "F'ck'n' _move!"_

My vision cleared slightly, although I was having trouble doing more than breathing at the moment. Hell, I was having trouble _breathing._ I saw Taylor, crouching not more than two yards from him, unable to take a step without drawing his attention.

I thought to distract him, maybe give her a chance to get away. My pistol –

My feebly groping hand found nothing. His talons had torn away a large swathe of the jacket I was wearing. Under it had been my shoulder holster; the razor-tipped claws had caught on that and torn it clean off my body, along with slices of my sweater.

Not that the pistol would have done anything against him. But it would have provided sound cover for Weaver. And I was lying on the damn carbine; getting it out, even presuming it would still fire, would undoubtedly make too much noise.

I paused for a moment, trying to puzzle out why I cared about making noise in my attempt to make noise.

And then I saw Taylor reaching up under the armour panel that hung down over her spine. Coming out with a small dark object. I had no idea what it was. She poised herself, then threw it; the thing flew over Lung's head, and plopped down softly in the garbage beyond. So softly did it land that I heard nothing, but Lung obviously did; he spun around and blew apart a dumpster with a massive fireball.

Weaver came up off the ground like a greyhound from the starting gate. She reached my side while Lung was still concentrating on the other direction, trying to lift me with all of her strength. There was no way she was going to lift me on her own, but she tried anyway. I didn't have the breath to argue, so I helped her, forcing myself up, gritting my teeth against the agony that lanced through my torso whenever I moved.

It didn't help that the fall from the fire escape had indeed been from above my safe falling distance, as my knee and ankle informed me; stabbing pains shot up and down my left leg as I got to my feet.

=/=/=

Lung twigged, just as I got to my feet. We lurched out of the way as he sent a stream of fire our way; it set a line of garbage ablaze and melted a section of brickwork. Although we were well out of the way, I felt the hairs on my hands curling and crisping.

He corrected aim and blasted again, but Taylor half-lifted, half-dragged me around the corner just in time. The alley lit up like the noonday sun, and I felt fire curling around my trailing ankle. I pulled it to safety hastily, but my foot still felt uncomfortably warm. Later, I would find, the boot heel had been half melted off.

"Can you walk?" Taylor asked.

I nodded; in truth, I was bearing up quite well under what I figured was serious trauma to my ribs. The pain was bad, as was that from my leg, but I was able to stagger on. Which was a good thing, because Taylor let go my arm and ducked in behind a dumpster, leaving me to shamble on alone.

I did just that, lurching onward, like a particularly well-fed zombie, using the wall for support quite a lot, and trying hard not to think about the organic-looking stains. I had other things on my mind.

Lung came around the corner, feeling his way; I lurched on, aiming for a dumpster of my own. My left arm, of its own accord, slipped the sling of the M-1 off my shoulder.

"I c'n hear y'," growled the scale-armoured draconic creature. "C'n't run, c'n't hide."

I fell behind the dumpster, just as he sent another stream of fire down the alleyway. Garbage ignited, flickering sullenly. As the flame receded, I dragged myself more or less up on to my knees, using the butt of the M-1 as a prop. Leaning around the corner of the dumpster, I clicked the safety to Off. Smoke from the burning garbage filled the alley; blinking my eyes to clear them, I sighted on Lung. I waited till he'd taken two more strides, then loosed half a dozen rounds, rapid fire.

The carbine's flat crack was very loud in my ears in the confined space of the alley; it jolted against my shoulder, but not hard enough to matter, even as the spent brass bounced off of my shoulder, and fell glinting into the trash.

My aim wasn't that great, but then, he wasn't that far away. I distinctly saw, or thought I saw, pinpricks of light as the rounds deflected from his metal-scaled torso. He stopped, apparently taken aback, and made an odd noise. A second later, as the ringing in my ears from the shots abated, I interpreted it as laughter.

"A _gun?"_ he bellowed, then roared laughter again.

That was when Taylor ambushed him for the _second _time; she straightened from her hiding place next to the dumpster, just about where my fusillade had given him pause, and let off the screamer, about one yard from his right ear.

The shriek more or less deafened _me,_ and I was close to a dozen yards away. And I _didn't_ have Lung's enhanced hearing.

Lung bellowed and clawed at his ears, his head back, his mouth wide open. Taylor was already sprinting toward me, discarding the screamer, tossing something else into the air. Something that paused and changed direction in midair. Against the glare of Lung's flaming aura, I saw tiny black specks surrounding it.

Weaver had definitely taken our chat to heart; unless I missed my guess, that was a net of spider-web, being carried by a swarm of bugs. Conveying what she had tossed back toward him.

What it was, I had no idea. Unless it was a live grenade, I couldn't think of anything that would have much of an effect on him. Although blind, deaf and suffering from the venom of dozens of spiders, he was still horribly dangerous. He could still kill us both.

He began to inhale; his intention, I surmised, was to fill the alley with fire from side to side. Weaver was almost to me; I was struggling to my feet, trying to move away from the impending fiery explosion.

The bugs, with their burden, reached his wide open mouth. The webs went first, crisping in the furnace heat. The insects themselves died an instant later, snuffed out like so many candles. The object, small and cylindrical, flew in a perfect arc into his gaping maw. It survived just a few more instants before the tremendous heat ruptured the metal and plastic casing, releasing the contents.

It was the pepper spray container that she had used. More than half full, in fact.

Lung inhaled the lot.

=/=/=

There was no all-destroying blast of flame. There was some fire, of course, but Lung was unable to maintain it, or make it reach as far. He fell to his knees, coughing and choking; even spitting out the melted remains of the canister did not do much to help him.

As we watched, he shrank in size; his flames died away. He clutched at his throat, struggling to breathe.

"Holy shit," I groaned, trying to rest my weight mainly on my right leg. "You just took down Lung."

"_We_ took down Lung," Weaver corrected me, but she sounded almost giddy with adrenaline. "But wasn't I supposed to do that anyway?"

"You should have had help," I told her. I couldn't help wondering why the Undersiders had not shown. Bitch's dogs would have made this a whole lot easier.

"Well, we did it anyways," she told me, and held out her fist to be bumped. I bumped it; she'd earned it. "Should we go, or wait around for the authorities?"

"I would advise," stated a voice from above us, "waiting for the authorities."

=/=/=

Taylor jumped; I would have done so as well, but doing so would have hurt. Instead, I leaned against the dumpster, safed the carbine, and slung it very carefully. Moving my right arm _hurt._ In fact, moving_anything_ hurt.

The voice had sounded young and male; given the comment, I surmised that he was a hero. And as the shadowed form above did not show glowing red panels, that left two real choices. I picked the most obvious one.

"Aegis, I presume?" I asked.

He descended slowly toward the ground, moving so as to keep Lung in view while not losing sight of us.

"Aegis, yes," he confirmed. "And you are …?"

"In pain," I replied, perhaps a little flippantly, but I figured I was permitted. "Do you have medical equipment on the way? I suspect I'm going to need it."

"Medical equipment is on the way," Aegis told me, then turned to Taylor. "I don't believe I've met you before."

"I'm Weaver," she told him, but her attention was mainly on me. "Should you be standing up?" she asked me. "Maybe you should sit down."

"I'll survive until a medic gets here," I assured her. "And then I'll probably collapse in a screaming heap."

"So what's your deal?" asked Aegis. "Hero or villain?"

"I'm a _hero_, not a villain," Taylor informed him. "Lung was going to kill children. We stopped him."

"Hm," he observed. "I've never heard of you before."

"That's because this is her first night out," I supplied. "And if you ask me, she did a bang-up job."

"I'm sorry, sir," he observed, "but _what_ was your name again?"

"Call Armsmaster," I told him. "Tell him it's Security. He'll know who you mean. I'm her backup for the night."

"Backup?" he asked.

I nodded. "Sure. You guys get the PRT, she gets me." I paused. "Go ahead, call him. He'll know the name."

"Armsmaster's busy tonight, sir," he informed me. "But Miss Militia's en route. You can speak with her."

_Busy,_ I realised. _Right. I gave him a stack of information for dealing with Saint. Whee, butterflies._

"She's here," observed Taylor, just a moment before a PRT truck screeched to a halt at the end of the alleyway.

=/=/=

It all began to happen after that. The PRT truck held a selection of soldiers in standard PRT gear, as well as two other capes. Miss Militia was one; Clockblocker was the other. Aegis called up a PRT medic to assist me, while others dealt with Lung.

I sat on the back steps of the truck, as the medic carefully removed my stab vest. He palpated my torso, causing me to hiss with pain, and grunted.

"Ribs are intact," he informed me, "but you'll have a bitchin' set of bruises tomorrow."

I shook my head. "They're broken," I insisted. "I felt them break."

He tapped the discarded stab vest. "The ceramic plates took the impact. The right side's busted all to hell and gone. That was what you felt breaking."

I took a deep breath and winced; there was still pain, but somehow it felt less urgent, knowing that I didn't have a shirtful of broken ribs.

"You must be the luckiest sonovabitch in the world," he continued. "Going up against Lung with a Second World War carbine, and surviving." He nodded to where the now-unloaded weapon leaned against the step.

I chuckled dryly, and winced again. "I was just the distraction. Weaver did all the work."

"Weaver, huh?" he commented. "Your daughter? Or shouldn't I be asking?"

I shook my head. "Friend of the family." I looked over at where Taylor was chatting with Aegis and Clockblocker, and wondered what they were talking about.

=/=/=

"_So, this Security guy, he your dad or something?" asked Clockblocker._

_Taylor shook her head slightly. "No comment," she replied._

_Aegis shook his own head more definitively. "Not cool, dude," he chided the white-clad Ward. "Secret identities are secret for a reason."_

"_What?" asked Clockblocker. "He's not even wearing a mask."_

"_Not a subject up for discussion," Taylor said firmly._

"_Okay," agreed Aegis. "Why 'Weaver', then? What's that about?"_

"_I control spiders to make them weave their webs the way I want," Taylor explained._

"_Just spiders?" asked Clockblocker._

_Taylor shook her head. "Basically any bugs, really."_

"_That sounds kind of cool," Clockblocker observed. "If just a little creepy."_

"_Mind demonstrating for us?" asked Aegis. "You can say no if you want."_

_Taylor glanced over to where Mike was still being treated, and shook her head. "No, it's fine." She held out her hand and a passing dragonfly deposited a black widow on the palm._

"_Holy crap, that's –" exclaimed Clockblocker._

_Taylor nodded. "I know. It's under my total control. All of my swarm is." She made it spin a web, then run up and down that same web, spinning more strands and twisting it as it went, until it ended up with a length of cord a good foot long._

"_When you say 'swarm'," Aegis began cautiously, "do you mean …"_

"_All the bugs in my range," Taylor replied, handing him the cord. "Here, a souvenir."_

_Aegis took the cord and tested it between his hands. "Hey, this is really strong," he observed in some surprise. "What else can you make them do?"_

_Taylor held up her gloved hand and flexed it. "This," she told them cheerfully._

_She couldn't see Clockblocker's face, but the way Aegis' jaw dropped was quite amusing._

"_Your costume's __**all**__ spider silk?" asked the leader of the Wards._

_Taylor nodded. "Took a while, but it's worth it."_

"_But how –" began Clockblocker, but Taylor noted Mike beckoning to her._

"_Sorry, I have to see what's going on," she told them, and moved over to where he was pulling his sweater back on, painfully slowly._

=/=/=

"What's the matter?" she asked, perching up beside me and helping me pull the sweater down into place.

I nodded toward where two of the PRT men were carrying Lung out of the alleyway, strapped to a stretcher. The medic, having decided that I wasn't hurt as badly as I had thought, was checking on the unconscious ABB cape. Miss Militia, having accompanied them down the alley, kept a close eye on Lung in case he was somehow faking it. The gun in her hand had a very large bore. In her left hand, she carried a piece of torn leather that looked somehow familiar.

"You might want to tell them exactly what you did to him," I suggested quietly. "That way, if their sedatives have any adverse effects, they'll know how to treat them."

"Is that likely to be a problem?" she asked. "He's a regenerator, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but he has his limits," I pointed out. "And if I know them, they pumped him full of sedatives right before they hit him with the antihistamines for the pepper spray in his lungs."

"Right, right," she said. Hopping up, she headed over to where they were bringing the stretcher our way. I climbed painfully to my feet – my leg felt better, but it would be also coming up in heavy bruising, and the medic had diagnosed a torn ligament as well as bruised ribs – and made way for them.

"- far more than the usual amount of venom, even from a single spider," she was telling the medic as they came into earshot. "I didn't know how much I needed to put him down, so I gave him the works. And even that nearly wasn't enough."

"So, black widows, brown recluses," noted the medic, writing in a notepad. "What else?"

"Wasps, honeybees, yellowjackets, hornets, fire ants," recited Taylor. "Long story short? Anything that can sting or bite, and can be found in Brockton Bay? Check him for it."

"We'll do that, and thanks," noted the medic. "He's a three-striker, and he's probably Birdcage bound, but we do want to get him there alive."

"Ah, about that," I put in, limping forward. "Miss Militia, a moment of your time?"

The dark-skinned woman looked up, and moved in my direction.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yeah," I told her. "I had a Glock in a shoulder holster before he tore it off me. Is that ...?"

She nodded and handed it over; the straps were snapped clean, but the gun looked to be undamaged.

"Thanks," I said gratefully. "That would've come out of my pay."

"I understand we've got you and, uh, Weaver to thank for this," she noted, indicating Lung's unconscious form. The gun dissolved and reformed in her left hand, and she offered her right. "Congratulations."

"Yeah, well," I replied uncomfortably as I shook her hand. "Like I said, Weaver did most of the work."

She nodded, unsurprised at my words. "I've been briefed on your interview with Armsmaster and the Director," she said briskly. "I'm aware of your ... unusual circumstances."

While her tone was polite, her body language indicated that she was a little dubious about some of what she had been told. And really, I didn't blame her.

I nodded. "Well, I am a huge fan, but that's not why I wanted to talk to you." I took a deep breath. "You do know Lung's recruited Bakuda from New York, right?"

She nodded. "I had heard." Curiosity began to show in her eyes. "This is not common knowledge."

I smiled slightly. "If Armsmaster briefed you on the interview, he would have told you that I know more than most people should, about many things."

"He may have alluded to the subject," she allowed cautiously.

"But you find it hard to believe," I observed. "Looking at me, I mean."

"I didn't say _that,"_ she protested, but her tone of voice wasn't entirely convincing.

"Oh, I don't blame you," I assured her. "I'm not all that impressive looking. Especially now. So, I guess I should show you my credentials, so to speak." I thought for a moment. "You've never told anyone this," I went on in a conversational tone, "but you _remember. _And you've never met anyone else who does."

It took her a moment to get my meaning, and then her eyes opened wide. "How did you –" she began, then cut herself off, her eyes searching my face. I kept my expression bland.

"Suffice to say, I _do_ know what I'm talking about," I continued. "So, do I have your complete and total attention?"

"You do _now,"_ she commented, somewhat dryly. "What is it that you wish to tell me about Bakuda?"

"She has bombs implanted in ABB rank and file, in their heads," I told her quietly. "She's also building bombs to work as hand grenades and grenade launcher ammo, so that ordinary mooks can use them. All kinds of effects."

"Implanted bombs?" she reiterated. "In their own rank and file? Why?"

"Forcible recruitment," I explained. "She can select which bomb using a heads-up display in her goggles, then triggers them using toe rings. Big toe and next toe over; she crosses her toes, the rings hit a certain contact, and the signal goes out."

"Do you know which foot?" she asked tensely.

I thought back to the story; the narrative had never made it clear. "No," I told her, "but if I find out, I'll pass the information on."

"In the meantime, I'll just shoot at her feet," she observed lightly. "Thank you for that; it's invaluable data."

I nodded. "She's likely to launch a bombing campaign, with diversionary blasts, to cover her freeing Lung from being sent to the Birdcage. Between the fifteenth and the twenty-fifth, at a rough estimate."

She froze, staring at me. "And that's _really_ important information," she told me. "You're certain of this?"

"As certain as I can be, without knowing what Thinkers are going to change matters," I pointed out. "It might happen sooner; it probably won't happen later."

She shook her head. "Where are you getting your information _from?"_ she asked.

I chuckled, and winced as my bruised ribs protested. "Did Armsmaster tell you what I said when he asked me that?"

She nodded. "That I wouldn't believe you if you told me."

"Exactly," I agreed. "Seriously, you really wouldn't."

"I find it hard to believe that I _wouldn't_ believe you, whatever you told me," she observed.

"Believe it," I advised her, deadpan.

She looked at me suspiciously, perhaps wondering if I were making a joke at her expense. I raised my eyebrows slightly. Her lips tightened, then relaxed in a wry grin.

"Okay, fine," she sighed. "I'll take you at your word. For now."

"Thanks," I replied. "So," I added, indicating with a shrug the carbine slung over my shoulder. "Is there going to be a problem with me carrying this?"

She held out her hand; I unslung the carbine and handed it over to her. At the request of the medic, I had unloaded it, ejecting the round from the chamber afterward. I, personally, knew it was safe; she checked the breech anyway.

She studied it carefully, then looked at me quizzically. "You took on Lung with _this?"_

I was't sure if her tone denoted respect or disbelief.

"Wasn't my first option," I confessed. "More of an emergency, plan Z backup idea." I shrugged, and winced as my ribs protested. "Turned out it worked just fine as a distraction."

"So I see," she observed as she handed it back. I slung it over my shoulder again, carefully.

"Well, you haven't used it in a crime," she went on, "and you helped take down Lung with it. I've been told that our unofficial policy with you is hands-off until farther notice. So I'm not going to push the matter. Just don't carry it down the street in broad daylight."

"Not part of the plan," I assured her. She nodded in acknowledgement.

"Ma'am, we're ready to go," one of the soldiers reported to her. "We'd like to get him back to secure holding as quickly as possible."

She nodded, then turned back to me. "Is there anything else you'd like to share before we go?"

I paused, thinking. "Not right this second, but I'll be in contact."

"Understood," she replied, and turned to Taylor. "You've done good work tonight, Weaver," she told the teen seriously. "I'd like you to think very seriously about joining the Wards. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me."

Weaver nodded. "I'll do that," she agreed. She shook Miss Militia's proffered hand, then watched as the older hero swung on board the truck. Clockblocker gave Weaver a high five, then climbed on board as well, as Aegis took to the air. We watched the truck drive away.

* * *

I turned to the slim costumed form at my side. "Well, partner, we've had an eventful night," I told her. "Kicked some bad guy ass, and got to talk to some heroes." I held out my fist; she bumped it. "Ready to head home?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "School in the morning's gonna be a killer."

"Tell me about it," I grumbled. "I've gotta be up at five thirty."

"Ouch," she sympathised, as we started back toward where we had left the pickup. "That's gotta suck."

"Eh," I temporised. "I've had worse."

I was already looking forward to the drive back, dropping Taylor at home, then heading back to my own place. My bed, soft and warm, was calling out to me.

But the night wasn't done with us yet.

=/=/=

"You've gone quiet there," I observed after several moments had passed without a comment between us. "Something on your mind?"

"Aegis and Clockblocker were really nice to me," she told me. "And Miss Militia too. They treated me like a cape, like a hero. Like one of _them._ Not an outsider."

"They did," I agreed. "They're good people."

She turned her head to look at me. "You say that like you know them personally."

"In a manner of speaking," I agreed.

"Ah," she responded. "The time travel thing." She paused. "Not really sure what to think about that, to be honest." Another pause, this one longer. "Do I die, between now and your time? Is that why you're being so nice to me? Do I die, saving the world?"

The apprehensive tone of her voice struck a chord in my heart. I shook my head emphatically. "No, you do not," I assured her. "You and your father are alive and well, after it's all over."

"Oh," she replied. "That's a relief, anyway."

"So, you were talking about Miss Militia and the Wards," I prompted.

"Oh, yeah," she recalled. "I just wanted to ask you ... well, you know how Miss Militia asked me if I wanted to join the Wards ...?"

"Yes?" I responded blandly.

"I was wondering if I should," she said, all in a rush. "I mean, they're nice, and they were interested in talking to me. To _me! _And it's like you were saying; I should learn to use my abilities better."

"And you can do that better in a teamwork situation, definitely," I agreed. "And yes, I think you'd do well in the Brockton Bay Wards." _Especially now that Shadow Stalker's __**not**__ there, _I told myself.

"So you think I should?" she asked.

I rubbed my chin. "I'm not _opposed_ to the idea," I told her. "But I think you should talk it over carefully with your father before you make up your mind."

"Sure," she agreed; I was certain a wide grin was stretching her mouth beneath her mask.

"And once you've spoken to him, and gone over all the pros and cons, then you're going to need to make up your own mind about this," I cautioned her. "It's a huge step to take, and you need to be absolutely certain in yourself before you commit. Because I won't be able to be there all the time to advise you, once you join."

"I know," she agreed soberly. Her hand found mine and squeezed it. "But I do want to thank you for what you've done for me, so far. For me and Dad."

Gently, I tugged my hand free and turned it into a fist-bump. "Hey," I said quietly. "You and your dad are good people. It is my genuine pleasure to help you out."

We walked a way farther in silence.

* * *

"Just one thing's bothering me," she observed as we approached the alley in which the pickup truck was waiting.

"What's that?" I asked, although I was fairly certain that I knew.

"You said I'd get to meet some villains," she told me. "And all I've met is heroes."

"I've been wondering about that myself," I agreed. "Something must have –"

The word 'changed' died on my lips as we turned the corner into the alleyway.

Taylor was going to meet the villains after all.

=/=/=

Grue was leaning up against the bullbar of the pickup, arms folded, like he had all the time in the world. Beside him, the lighter Regent was actually perched up on the bullbar, his feet on the lower bar. Bitch stood foursquare beside them, her three dogs sitting in a row at her feet. Behind them, Tattletale stood in the open car door, one elbow resting on the roof and one on the door itself. She had obviously turned the internal light off so as to not alert us.

Beside me, Taylor tensed; I felt, rather than saw, the surrounding haze of bugs start to move in on us.

"You're here to talk, not fight," I stated, with a calm I did not feel. My words were aimed more at Taylor than at the villains; she relaxed, ever so slightly.

"Uh, yes," Grue replied. "We're -"

"- the Undersiders, I know," I told him. "You're Grue, that's Regent, Bitch with the dogs, and that's Tattletale who's been poking through my car."

"You know us." It was a statement, not a question, and it came from Tattletale.

"I know _of _you, yes," I amended. "And I'm wondering why you didn't come to help out. You _know_ we did you a solid."

Tattletale's gaze sharpened, and Grue's helmet came up.

"By the time we got here, it was all but over," the girl explained. "You had his butt pretty well kicked." She paused. "Wait, you did this on _purpose?"_

"Didn't want you dying," I commented off-handedly.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Weaver turn her head toward me. The four Undersiders were all staring at me, as if I had grown a second head.

"How did you know -" began Grue.

Tattletale overrode him. "Do you work for - no, you don't. You just did it to ... save us? What the hell? How did you know - no, that doesn't make any sense."

She fell silent, staring at me intently. Warily.

"You're just now realising that I know a lot more about you, about all of you, than you know about me, even after your little dig through my car," I observed. Behind her mask, I saw her blink. Uncertainty.

"Tattletale, what's this about?" asked Grue carefully. "Is he a cape?"

"No, not a cape," she replied absently, still staring at me. "The girl is, though."

"_The girl's_ name is Weaver, thanks," Taylor cut in sharply. "So you're the Undersiders? You're villains, is that it?"

"Yeah," retorted Regent. "What're you gonna do about it?"

"She just took down Lung and hardly broke a sweat," I advised the teenage boy. "I'd be careful what you say to her. Just saying."

"Yeah?" he answered. "Like what –"

"Shut _up,_ Regent," Tattletale and Grue spoke at the same time. He stared at them, then shut up, folding his arms.

"So what can you do, Weaver?" asked Grue, turning his helmeted head to look toward her.

"Bug control," she replied.

Regent snorted. "Bug control. Wow. I'm shaking in my boots."

Tattletale spoke cautiously. "Ignore him. How _many_ bugs are we talking about?"

Taylor lifted her chin. "All of them," she stated firmly. "Everything within two blocks. It's mine to control."

"Well, I think –" began Regent, then stopped as Grue reached out and closed a large hand on the back of his neck, and squeezed.

"Regent," he said almost gently, "I think you should be _polite_ to the nice bug-controlling girl. The one who could cover us in hornets or black widows any time she felt like it. Just saying."

There are nerve points on either side of the neck; jabbing one sharply is quite painful. Grue was obviously squeezing Regent's neck on these points, because when he let go, the younger boy started rubbing his neck.

"Okay, geez," he muttered. "I didn't mean anything. Bug control's a great power. Honest."

"I think I preferred you being a dick," Taylor observed. "You're more honest that way."

I thought I heard Grue chuckle inside the helmet, but I had other matters to attend to.

I looked over at Tattletale, who had not taken her eyes from me the whole time.

"Got a question for you," I offered. "With a bit of a quid pro quo."

She blinked again. "I'm listening."

"You know the ABB is gunning for you, or at least Lung was, tonight."

She nodded. "That's true."

"Well, Bakuda's in town. Lung recruited her from New York."

"Shit," muttered Grue. "I've heard of her."

"Is she all that bad?" asked Regent.

"She'd fit in just fine with the Slaughterhouse Nine," I told him flatly.

"_Fuck,"_ responded Grue and Regent at the same time.

"So," I went on. "She'll likely be coming after you, maybe sometime next week. You see an Asian person, someone with a scar up near the hairline on the back of the neck, chances are that poor bastard's got a bomb in their brain."

"Oh shit," muttered Grue. "That's fucking sick."

"It's all of that," I agreed. "Now, Tattletale, here's my question. She selects which person to blow up with a heads-up display in her goggles. She's got toe-rings on, and she crosses her toes, big toe and next toe, to make the contacts touch and send out the detonate signal. Which foot has the toe-rings on it?"

"The left foot, duh," she responded immediately.

I nodded. "Thank you," I replied. "That may just save lives."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Regent. "What the fuck is this? Why are we letting this guy tell us all this?" He looked me up and down. "You're what, fifty? What do you know?"

"He's forty-three," Tattletale told him. "And he knows plenty."

I sighed. "It always comes to this. I didn't want to go there, but ... here we go. Those people who are most important to you." I pointed at Grue. "Aisha." At Tattletale. "Rex." At Regent. "Cherie." And at Bitch. "Rollo."

Grue stepped forward; Regent hopped down from the bullbar. Bitch took a step forward as well, and her dogs came to their feet, growling. Beside me, Weaver tensed again.

"What the _fuck_ do you mean by that?" snarled Bitch. "You don't get to use that name. You don't get to _say_ that name."

"I meant no harm," I replied to her, making direct eye contact, and stating the words forcefully and directly. "Rollo was important to you. Those other names were important to them. I was making a point, nothing more."

I waited, hoping I was taking the right tack with her. I was taller, heavier than her. I wasn't showing overt signs of aggression, but my direct gaze, my blunt tone, my straight talking, hopefully would defuse her anger.

She lowered her eyes, took a step back. "Yeah, well, don't do it again," she muttered.

"I won't," I answered, and looked at the others. "Satisfied?"

Tattletale stepped out from behind the car door, closed it, and moved forward to stand alongside Grue. "I was already satisfied," she told me. "Grue?"

"I'm satisfied that he knows _something,"_ the black-clad villain agreed.

"Good," replied Tattletale. "Regent?"

The teenage boy shrugged. "Eh. I was never that close to her."

"You were never that close to anyone in your family," I pointed out.

"Fair point," he agreed carelessly. "Yeah, I'm satisfied."

"Okay," I told them. "That was just for a demonstration. I have no desire to harm you. I'd much prefer you alive and well. I also prefer _me_ alive and well, which is why I'm going to ask you to not tell anyone about this meeting."

"Why should we do that for you?" asked Grue bluntly.

"Because we took Lung down for you," I pointed out. "And one more thing. I did _you_ a favour, two nights ago."

"Yeah?" he asked. "What'd you do for me?"

I grinned slightly. "Shadow Stalker."

"What about her?" His voice was wary.

"Awaiting trial for attempted murder," I informed him.

"You're _shitting_ me," he exclaimed.

I shook my head. "Check around. You'll find I'm right."

"We can definitely do that," agreed Tattletale. She looked closely at me. "You're not done with us, are you? There's more that you want. What is it?"

I grinned at her. "I'll tell you, the next time we meet."

She stared at me. "You _know_ when that'll be. _How_ do you know when that'll be?"

"Trust me," I told her, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you." I heard Weaver snicker beside me.

"Right," she replied, still eyeing me. "Now you're just giving me a headache."

I shrugged, very carefully. "Sorry, but we've got to get going. I _will_ talk to you later, though. Okay?"

Grue and Tattletale glanced at each other, and Tattletale shrugged.

"Okay," Grue agreed. "We'll talk later."

"And no telling anyone," I added.

"No telling anyone," he repeated.

They stepped out of the way; I put the carbine behind the seat, and Weaver and I climbed into the pickup. I wound down the window and held my hand out, palm up. Tattletale dropped my spare keys into it.

"Sorry," she said with a shrug and a grin. "Old habits."

"No worries," I told her. "I pretty well expected something of the sort."

"And I'm still trying to figure you out." She shook her head. "What the hell is it? How do you do it?"

I grinned as I put the key in the ignition. "Trade secret. And I'm giving you a unique experience."

"What's that?" she asked, unguardedly.

"How other people feel around you," I told her cheerfully, and started the engine.

=/=/=

We left them staring after us as I drove out of the alleyway. I got Taylor to get the map out and find where we were, and how to get back to her place.

After a while, she turned to me and said in a small voice, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" I asked.

"I should have been checking around," she confessed. "I didn't check the alley before we got to it."

"Well, we got away with it this time, but maybe not the next time," I agreed. "So yeah, lesson learned, hey?"

"Oh, definitely," she agreed fervently. "Next left, I think."

I took the next left.

* * *

"So," I asked her after a little while longer. "You got to meet the villains. "What did you think?"

"They weren't like Lung," were her first words, then she thought more about it. "They were ... people. Like you and me."

"More like you than me," I commented. "I think Regent's about your age."

"Yeah," she agreed. "But ... normal. Not ... evil."

"Not really, no," I concurred. "None of them got into crime for crime's sake."

"Do you _know_ why they got into crime?" she asked curiously.

"Sure," I told her cheerfully. "Grue's trying to support his younger sister. Tattletale was more or less forced into it. Regent needs to get away from family issues, and Bitch never really had a choice."

"Why was Tattletale staring at you?" she asked next.

I chuckled. "Her power is super-intuition. Anything that could possibly be a tell lights up like a neon sign for her. So she's used to being the smartest person in the room. The one that knows everything."

She began to giggle. "And you knew things that she didn't, and she doesn't know how you know it ..."

I nodded. "Exactly and precisely," I praised her.

"What are the other guys' powers?" she wanted to know.

So, as we wended our way back to the Hebert house, I expounded on the powers possessed by the Undersiders.

=/=/=

The lights were still on when we arrived. Danny must have been just napping on the sofa, because by the time Taylor was on the sidewalk, he was opening the door and coming down the steps. I climbed much more carefully out of my side of the pickup, locking it as I did so, and walked around to greet him.

Taylor and Danny met in a bone-crushing hug that looked fair to go on for some time; I leaned against the bonnet of the pickup and waited for them to get it over with. Eventually, he let her go, and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her up and down.

"You're okay?" he asked. "You're really okay?"

"I'm really okay, Dad," she confirmed. "Can we talk about it inside?"

"Sure," he told her. "Sure." Then he grabbed my right hand with both of his, and shook it. "Thank you, Mike." His voice was thick with feeling. "Thank you for taking care of my girl."

I grimaced. "She took care of me, more like," I corrected him. "But yeah, inside is better."

=/=/=

Inside, Taylor made her excuses and trotted upstairs to change and freshen up. I sat at the kitchen table while Danny put the kettle on to boil.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"I don't drink it," I confessed. "Cocoa or cold water will do me just fine."

He looked me over, frowning. "You look like you've really been in a fight," he observed. "Are you all right?"

"Bumps, bruises, contusions, a pulled ligament," I recited. "Nothing that won't heal with time and care."

"And Taylor's really okay?" he asked me.

I nodded. "She kept it together. Even when things were going pear-shaped, she was planning ahead. She's the one who won the fight."

=/=/=

I was sipping cocoa, and Danny had black tea on for Taylor, when she came downstairs, wearing her pyjamas and with her damp hair loosely pulled back in a ponytail.

"Wow, watch out," I observed. "It's Weaver, terror of the underworld."

She stuck her tongue out at me, and went to pour a cup of tea. "I had to shower," she confessed. "I sweated more than I thought in that costume."

"Well, it's a good thing you did," I told her. "Nothing's worse than stinky superhero." That got me a chuckle from Danny, and a roll of the eyes from his daughter.

I could see my hand beginning to shake on the tabletop, and I put down the cup before my other hand spilled the drink.

"Are you all right?" Taylor asked, sitting beside me, as I looked down at my hand. It continued to shake, no matter how much I told it not to.

"I think it's just really beginning to hit me," I confided. "All of it. What we did tonight. How close I came to dying." Both my hands were shaking now, and my voice had a quaver in it that I didn't like.

"Adrenaline comedown," Danny observed. "I've seen it before." His voice was calm. "It'll pass. Nothing to be ashamed of."

I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling my whole body shaking. "I – I know," I told him. "It's just – I can't – I want to – stop it – can't." I felt tears welling in my eyes, knew it was from the reaction. But I didn't want to let Taylor see, Taylor who saw me as her rock and her protector.

I heard a chair scrape closer, and it was Danny who put his arms around me, Danny who held me while I shook, while the tears flowed down my cheeks.

And then Taylor put her arms around both of us, and I felt the shudders begin to give way to the warmth that was being offered me, and ever so gradually, I began to relax and let it pass.

When it was over, I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, and no-one said a word.

=/=/=

Half an hour later, I was ready to go home. We had gone over the events of the night; Danny was aghast to discover that Taylor had taken on Lung, but pleased that she had defeated him, with just a little assistance from me. Mainly as a decoy, I pointed out.

We talked over the idea of Taylor joining the Wards, and Danny was cautiously optimistic at the idea. I pointed out that the Wards tended to go to Arcadia, and so she would have friends in class there, if she joined. Danny definitely approved of that part of it.

Taylor also told him of the encounter with the Undersiders, mentioning that they were grateful about our defeat of Lung, but eliding over the rest. We had discussed the matter on the way back to the house, and had decided that Danny didn't need to know about me being a time traveller quite yet.

I would tell him, I decided. He did deserve to know. It would just be at a time and place of my choosing.

By the time we were finished, Danny was yawning and Taylor could hardly keep her eyes open. I knew that I would not get much sleep, but anything was better than nothing, so I pushed the chair back from the table and stood up.

"Well, if I'm to make it to school tomorrow," I pointed out, "I need to get back to my place."

Danny nodded. "You're not far wrong," he agreed, with another jaw-cracking yawn.

Taylor rose and came around the table to me. "Hold still," she ordered me, and then hugged me, very gently. I hugged her back; it was the only thing I could do.

"Now you go home and get some rest," she told me firmly.

"Yes, boss," I agreed with a chuckle.

They saw me to the door; I shook Danny's hand again, and Taylor fist-bumped me. Then I walked out the door and down the steps, avoiding the bottom one.

=/=/=

The drive home, without Taylor in the passenger seat to keep me awake, was almost interminable. I wound down the window to let the chill night air in, and took deep breaths; they made my ribs ache, but it kept me alert.

I made it all right, and pulled into my usual parking place. Before I went anywhere, however, I got out my maglite and shone it around the courtyard. I wasn't going to get ambushed a second time.

Sure enough, between two cars, a scrawny figure was lurking. One arm was in a sling; the other held a switchblade. He stared at me as I shone the torch around some more. He didn't seem to have brought backup this time.

The holdup artist started toward me, waving the knife. "Give me your –" he began, then stopped as I pulled the Glock from the ruined shoulder holster. I wasn't in the best of shape, but at five yards, he made a great target. I also wasn't in the mood for this shit.

"We can do this one of two ways," I told him, keeping the gun steady on target. "I can shoot you right now, or you can fuck off and I never see you again."

It didn't take him long to decide. The last I saw of him was his retreating rear profile, hastening out of the courtyard.

=/=/=

No-one else jumped out at me as I struggled upstairs with my gear, which was good, because I probably would have shot someone. I had to work to put my key in the door, but eventually I managed. The door opened, and I stumbled inside. I locked it before I switched on the light.

That was when I turned around, and came face to face with a not-quite-familiar figure. Tall, hooded cloak, green glow coming from under the hood.

My tired brain was trying to process this when he spoke.

"We need to talk."

"Ah," I sighed, realising who this had to be. "Hello, Eidolon."

* * *

End of Part Nine


	10. Chapter 10

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Ten: (Tell Me Why) I Don't Like Mondays

* * *

_Brian took his helmet off and stared at Lisa._

_"Okay," he began without preamble, "seriously, what the fuck?"_

_"Yeah," chimed in Alec, flopping on to the sofa, his mask in his hand. "Is it just me, or did that guy just out-Lisa Lisa?"_

_Lisa shook her head. "I don't know how he did it, guys," she confessed. "But he __**knew**__ stuff. Stuff that he shouldn't have known. Stuff he shouldn't have been __**able**__ to know."_

_Brian was at the fridge. "Beer?" he called over his shoulder.._

_"Sure," replied Alec._

_"No thanks," demurred Lisa. "I want my head clear. I need to check some stuff out.". Her laptop was open and booting up as she spoke._

_"Before you get into that, I want to talk about that guy," Brian insisted, handing a beer to Regent and twisting the top off of his. "What do you mean, stuff he shouldn't have been able to know?"_

_Lisa looked up at him. Her mask was off, but she hadn't wiped the black makeup off her eyelids yet. "I mean, he knew all about us, Brian. __**Everything.**__ Your name, my name, Alec's real name, our backgrounds, the full details of our powers, the lot. Shit, he knew about Rex, and I've never told __**anyone**__ about him."_

"_Never told anyone about Rollo either," put in Rachel, from where she was grooming Brutus._

_"Maybe he's investigated your backgrounds somehow?" suggested Brian. It wasn't often that he saw Lisa this rattled._

_"My power says not," she replied. "I get the distinct impression that he's read some kind of intense in-depth dossier on us. One that I know for a __**fact**__ does not exist."_

_"That doesn't make any sense," Alec protested._

_Lisa shrugged. "It is what it is," she told him. "But I __**am **__going to be looking this guy up. I want to know what his sources are."_

_"Sucks not being the smartest person in the room, doesn't it?" jibed Alec._

_Without looking, Lisa threw a cushion at him. It collided with his face, just as he took a drink of beer; he yelped as the cold beverage spilled over his chin and down his neck._

_"One more thing," Brian asked. "Are you going to be telling the boss about him?"_

_Lisa considered the question seriously._

_"On the one hand," Alec put in, dabbing at the spilled beer with his shirt, "you know he's gotta be interested."_

_"On the other," Brian added, "this guy helped out with Lung, he warned us about Bakuda, and there's that thing with Shadow Stalker. And he __**did**__ ask us to keep it on the down-low."_

_Lisa nodded. "And I got the impression that him asking us to do that was as much for our benefit as for his."_

_"A threat?" asked Brian, wary now._

_She shook her head. "More of a friendly warning. He wants us alive and well. He said so."_

_"So, we keep it between us for the time being?" Brian concluded._

_"For the moment, yeah," agreed Lisa. She went back to the laptop, her fingers rippling over the keys. "Now, let's see who you __**really **__are, Mr Allen ..."_

=/=

"Ah," I sighed, realising who this had to be. "Hello, Eidolon."

"Michael Allen, if that's even your real name," he responded, his voice heavy, the words charged with some emotion that I couldn't analyse. Fear? Anger? "You've been spreading rumours about me. _Damaging_ rumours. Rumours that could destroy all I've worked to build as a hero, and the Protectorate with me."

I dumped my gear on the couch - equipment belt, carbine, ripped shoulder holster, the lot - and turned to face him. "I spread no rumours," I corrected him. "Contessa wanted to know what I knew about Endbringers and how to stop them. I told her what I knew. I'm not responsible for what she says, and to whom."

Perhaps I wasn't being the most diplomatic, but this was the third night in a row that I'd had an uninvited visitor in my flat, all my injuries were throbbing in syncopation, and I really wanted a shower and bed. Why couldn't Cauldron sort their own damn messes out?

"What you _told_ her was a total fabrication, a tissue of lies from end to end," he hissed, the green glass helmet giving his voice a faintly echoing quality. "Somehow you convinced her that it was true. You're going to tell her that it's all lies, that there's no truth in what you've told her."

I paused, trying to get my thoughts in order. "Look," I told him. "It's really simple -"

I hadn't seen the dark-clad form in the unlit kitchen, until a blur of motion clued me in on her presence. All of a sudden, my face was being pressed hard against the wall, with both arms wrenched painfully up behind my back.

"Ow," I managed, the word slurred somewhat, due my face being mashed up against the wall. "Awexandwia, I pwesu'e."

"You _will_ retract your statements," the leader of the Los Angeles Protectorate told me bluntly. "Contessa wants you alive, but there are many gradations between unhurt and dead." Her grip on my arms was iron-hard, and about as yielding.

"Wook," I managed. "C'n we ..."

I trailed off, and she took the hint, allowing me to lift my face away from the wall and talk normally. She didn't loosen her grip on my arms, though. And my ribs were killing me.

"Talk," she ordered me.

"Can we just sit down and discuss this like rational people?" I asked plaintively. "I'm not a cape. It's not like I'm going to overpower the two of you.'

There was a long pause, during which time I wondered if my arms would even work right again, or if my shoulders would be double-jointed for the rest of my life.

Abruptly, the pressure on my arms released, and I shook my shoulders into some sort of shape. Alexandria pointed at the kitchen table. "Sit," she ordered. "Talk, and make it good.'

* * *

I pulled out a chair, and sat down, then pointedly waited till they also sat. I had a container of cookies on the table; opening this, I offered it around. When both of them declined, I shrugged and took one myself.

"We're waiting," snapped Alexandria sharply. Here was a woman who could level _buildings._ One did not keep her waiting lightly.

"Okay," I told her, having taken the time to gather my thoughts. "First off, do you need convincing that I know what I'm talking about, or are you willing to take what I say at face value?"

"What?" demanded Eidolon. "We're talking about you retracting your statement to Contessa, not how true it is."

"No," I told him with as much firmness as I could muster, "we're talking about fixing this mess and stopping the Endbringers once and for all."

The following silence was broken only by the crunching noises as I ate the cookie. They both stared at me; if I hadn't already faced Lung that night, I would have been a lot more scared; as it was, my adrenals were on holiday.

Alexandria's voice was a hiss. _"Explain."_

"Okay," I agreed. "But first, I have to be sure you're ready to believe what I've got to say. That I know what I'm talking about. You especially." I nodded to Eidolon.

He shook his head. "I've heard nothing to convince me anything of the sort. Your statement is ..."

"For fuck's sake, David, enough about the statement," I expostulated. "You met Doctor Mother in May of nineteen eighty-six. You were wheelchair-bound, and had applied to the Army but been turned down. You'd tried to slash your wrists, but failed there too. How am I doing?"

Leaving him gaping at me, I turned to Alexandria. "Library of Alexandria, real name Rebecca Costa-Brown, Chief Director of the PRT," I stated crisply. "You were in your teens, in the final stages of cancer, in a hospital in Los Angeles. You were sick and tired of being seen as the brave one, but you just couldn't drop the facade. And then Doctor Mother made you an offer you couldn't refuse."

I put my hands on the table and leaned back. _"Now_ are you willing to believe that I know what I'm talking about?" I asked.

The double-barrelled stare had not abated; if anything, it had intensified.

"If you reveal _one word -"_ began Alexandria.

I cut her off. "Seriously, enough with the threats. I _know_ you could both kill me, or maim me, in ways subtle and horrifying. Let's not go there. We're working toward the same goal, here. Saving the fucking world."

I took a deep breath. "Eidolon, I need to tell you something, and I need your full attention." I fixed my gaze on the hooded man. "Do I have it?"

He nodded reluctantly. "You have it."

I felt cautious relief. They were listening. At least for the moment.

* * *

"Okay, one; a general statement. Assume that I know everything significant about Cauldron. I'm not going to blow the whistle; it's up to _you _to start making plans to dismantle it, rehabilitating the Case fifty-threes, restoring the ones you can to a normal life, once golden boy is dead and gone."

I looked from frozen stare to frozen stare.

"Two," I went on. "Eidolon. Your powers have been waning. You've been seeking high-end conflict, getting booster shots from Doctor Mother. Hasn't been doing a damn bit of good. That's because you've been going about it all wrong."

"I find it hard to believe -" began Eidolon.

"That I know more about this stuff than all your experts?" I chuckled; there was no humour in it. "I know shit you wouldn't fucking _believe._ Stuff that would turn your whole world-view inside out. Alexandria's good at cold-reading people; she can tell you I'm not exaggerating."

Alexandria made no comment; I went on.

"Where you're going wrong is that you're drawing from the wrong power pool. What you're tapped into, as far as I can tell, is all the dead ... agents, I think you call 'em. The whatsits that actually connect to the corona pollentia and give people powers. There's basically dead ones out there, or disconnected ones. Agents that have never connected to a person, or were left behind when a cape died."

I was free-associating now, but it sounded good.

"Anyway," I went on. "You're missing a trick. The dead ones? They're why your powers are running down. You need to plug into wall power, get a shot of the live juice."

"Start making sense sometime," he growled.

"Sure," I told him. "What I just said? Quite possibly the purest bullshit. But essentially true. What you've got to do is let go. Make a leap of faith. You generally concentrate on fight or flight powers, ones for offence or defence, right?"

"... essentially correct," he conceded.

"So let 'em all go," I advised him. "Reach for _mental_ powers. There's one out there that'll let you detect the powers that capes around you have on them. And once you've got that one, reach for the one that lets you tap into those powers."

He stared at me. "And that's _it?" _he asked blankly. "That's the solution to everything?"

"Well, there's more to it than _that_," I told him. "Once you realise your powers are back up to pre-decline levels, you'll have no conscious need for conflict. You know Jessica Yamada, of course?"

He nodded in agreement. "I've spoken to her in the past."

"See her. Soon. Tell her everything; the link with the Endbringers, the lot. Tell her that you need to come to peace with yourself, that you need to stop seeking conflict, even subconsciously. Tell her you've got a month to get it right."

"A ... month?" repeated Alexandria.

I nodded. "You may have gotten the report. Leviathan is due to hit Brockton Bay on May the fifteenth."

She nodded. "It crossed my desk." Her gaze sharpened on mine, as the penny finally dropped. "You're ... Security?"

"The same," I acknowledged. "Now, it might not actually happen. I have another iron in the fire, one that might deflect him elsewhere. But if you can get your head together, it might just stop the Endbringers from attacking anywhere ever again."

Eidolon stared at me. "But ... how do you _know_ when and where Leviathan is even due to strike?"

I noted that he wasn't professing disbelief any more, and grinned. "I'd tell you, but that would just start another argument. Let's just leave it that I know stuff."

Pushing back my chair, I rose painfully. "Well, I've told you what I know. It's up to you now."

Both heroes rose at the same time. "If it turns out you've lied to me ..." began Eidolon.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," I told him. "Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. It'll work. If you do it right. Then it's up to you to get your head together."

His tone was suddenly uncertain. "But ... if this is all true ... I'm responsible for ..."

"Bullshit!" I snapped, loudly enough to make him jump. "Your _powers_ did it, not you. Mrs Yamada will tell you the exact same damn thing." I flapped my hands at them. "Now get out of here. Go save a cat in a tree or something. I'm tired and I'm hurting and I need to get some sleep."

"I had noticed your injuries," Alexandria commented; her tone was much less confrontational than before. "What happened?"

I leaned on the chair for a moment. "Lung happened," I told her. "And a mugger. No biggie. I'll survive."

"You took on _Lung_," Eidolon's voice was flat. "And you survived."

"I had a cape with me," I stated. "She did all the hard work. I'm just bruised, is all."

"Hm," replied Eidolon. A green glow began to build up around his left hand. "Well, as you would probably remind us, we are heroes, and we have a responsibility to help people." The glow left his hand, drifted over to me, sank into my chest. I watched with a certain amount of detachment; this was the first time that an actual, real, super-power had been used on me. As opposed to super-strength, Tinker gadgets, or flame.

"What's that do?" I asked.

"It will grant you restful sleep, and heal your wounds," he told me. "In the meantime ... I will try what you've told me. See how it goes."

I tried to ignore the weird tingling in my chest. "Do, or do not, young Skywalker," I misquoted. "There is no 'try'."

Alexandria shot me an extremely dry look. "Door," she said out loud. Without fuss, a portal opened in midair. On the other side was the gleaming white corridor of Cauldron. "We'll be in touch."

Without further ado, they both stepped through the hole in space-time.

"I look forward to it," I replied, but the portal had already closed.

With a sigh, I put my gear away, showered briefly, and went to bed.

_Another day, another flock of butterflies._

I dreamed of home.

=/=

_Emily Piggot was convened in her office with Armsmaster and Miss Militia. The doors were locked, the shutters closed, and a discordant buzz filled the air._

_**"I look forward to it,"**__ they each heard, in a voice they all recognised. The Director shut off the playback and looked at the two capes._

_"Normally, you wouldn't even be hearing of this," she told them frankly, "but until I can be sure of everyone on the PRT side of things, you two are about the only ones I feel I can trust. You're also the only other two people I can call on regarding Michael Allen, the only two who have encountered him in the field."_

_Miss Militia looked back at the Director. "What do you want from us?" she ventured._

_"Your thoughts," Piggot told her brusquely. "On what you've just heard."_

_"Honestly?" asked the dark-skinned woman. "I think it's above my pay grade. Reading between the lines ..." she trailed off._

_"Reading between the lines," Armsmaster put in, "it sounds as though Alexandria is using her civilian identity to run the PRT, in violation of the same regulations that she helped to write. It sounds as though Eidolon is in some way responsible for the Endbingers, though he either didn't know it, or didn't want to know it. And it sounds as though they're both in collusion with this mysterious Cauldron, and someone called Contessa, and someone else with the unlikely name of Doctor Mother."_

_Emily Piggot drew a deep breath. "I concur with all of those conclusions," she agreed. "Just as I concur with Miss Militia's conclusion. This is far above our pay grade."_

_"So we just ... bury it?" Armsmaster's voice was disbelieving. "It never happened?"_

_Piggot shook her head. "No. But we don't speak of it, either. We watch, and we listen, and we gather data. We don't have nearly enough to go on with at the moment. So we build our case. And when the time comes ... we use it."_

_Miss Militia nodded, but Armsmaster was frowning. _

_The Director looked at him. "Is there a problem, Armsmaster?"_

_"Not a problem, exactly, Director," he confessed. "Just ... Alexandria's doing a competent job as Director Costa-Brown. And she's a celebrated hero in her own right. Do we really have to bring her down, out her, drag the name of the PRT and the Protectorate in the mud, just because she's breaking a few rules, and doing a good job in the meantime?"_

_Director Emily Piggot rose to her feet, and looked him right in the eye, or at his opaque visor, which was the closest she could come to doing so. _

_"Armsmaster," she snapped, with the steel of command in her voice. "When regulations say that a cape may lead the Parahuman Response Teams, then it will be perfectly okay for her to do so. Until that day, we will treat it as a violation of those same regulations. Is. That. Understood?"_

_Armsmaster braced to attention, quite possibly not even aware that he was doing so. "Yes, Director!" he barked._

_Piggot sat down again. "Good," she acknowledged. "But we'll keep it quiet until we have more to go on with.". She looked over at Armsmaster. "While I have you here, what's the status on the Saint investigation?"_

_Armsmaster, apparently relieved at the change of subject, relaxed slightly. "It's going well, Director," he reported. "The data Security supplied led us right to his accomplices. The woman – Margaret Pellick – apparently purchased the property in Toronto under her maiden name. There's some activity on site, but it's hard to run a full operation without Dragon finding out. Covert surveillance should be in place in the next few days."_

_The Director nodded, pleased. "Excellent work."_

_"Talking about covert surveillance," put in Miss Militia, "are the listening devices you've had put into Mr Allen's residence entirely ... legal?"_

_Director Piggot looked uncomfortable. "Only via a certain interpretation of 'legal'," she admitted. "He knows things that he shouldn't; this makes me very uncomfortable. In short, we're investigating a potential security leak."_

_"If he makes you so uncomfortable, why not just recruit him?" suggested Miss Militia._

_Armsmaster snorted. "Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "Him, in the PRT? He's -"_

_"Old? Fat? Unfit?" interrupted Director Piggot caustically. "Careful, Armsmaster. I'm all of that."_

_"I didn't mean -" began Armsmaster hastily._

_"Of course you didn't," agreed Piggot, in a tone which meant, 'of course you did'. "No, for the moment, it's hands-off. As it is, he's offered us some rather useful data, and indications are that we'll get more when he decides it's time. If he gets outed, then we offer him recruitment for his own protection, of course. But failing that, we leave him alone."_

_She looked at the two capes. "If there's no further business?"_

_Armsmaster shook his head; Miss Militia likewise indicated negation. Director Piggot reached over to the large red button and pressed it, allowing it to click back into its normal position. The discordant hum ceased, and the shutters rattled back to allow sunlight in once more._

_"Thank you for attending this test," she addressed them out loud, just in case someone was actually listening. "Dismissed." _

_As the doors closed behind them, Emily Piggot leaned back in her chair and massaged her temples. __**Life was so much simpler before Security showed on the scene, **__she thought ruefully._

_Removing the thumb drive with the incriminating conversation on it from the computer, she put it in her pocket. Only then did she turn the modem on. It didn't take long before alerts started popping up on her screen._

_With a sigh, she took hold of the mouse and started clicking on action items._

_From here on in, it would be just another Monday morning at work._

=/=

I stood on the steps of Winslow High School. Freshly shaved, beard neatly trimmed, my uniform ironed, I had even taken the time to polish my boots. Arms folded before me, sunglasses hiding my eyes from the early morning glare, I watched the incoming students.

A good many of these had seen me on the Friday; many of those who had not, had been told of me by their friends. Having a security guard stationed at Winslow was apparently no small matter. Those few of them that had neither seen me nor heard of me were eyeing me curiously as they entered the school.

Taylor, having gotten off the bus, trotted up the steps not far from me. She flashed me a sudden grin; I nodded back, deadpan. Then she was past me and inside, looking much more animated than the first time I had met her, three days ago.

"Mr Allen?"

I looked down the steps toward where one of the parents stood. I did not recognise the pretty brunette, but the redheaded girl next to her was entirely familiar to me.

Descending the steps, I looked the brunette over. If Emma had gotten her hair from her father, she had definitely gotten her figure and her looks from her mother. This would be ...

"I'm Zoe Barnes," she introduced herself, offering her hand.

I shook it carefully. "Michael Allen," I replied. "Thanks for dropping Emma off. Her father's not here today?"

She shrugged slightly. "He had to go into the office early."

_I just bet he did._ "Well, that's fine. I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs Barnes."

She smiled, flipping her hair in a way I had seen Emma do once. She did it much better than Emma. "Oh, you make me feel old. Please, call me Zoe."

I nodded slightly. "If you insist, Zoe." I paused. "Was there something else?"

"Actually, yes," she told me, stepping closer to me. I caught a whiff of her perfume, and a look down her blouse that suggested that she considered underwear to be an optional extra. "I'm concerned at the harshness of the punishment that Emma's been given. It was just a silly little prank, wasn't it? Really, I mean?"

Her voice was soft, low, throaty. It promised much, if I'd just agree with her. I didn't know whether the promise was an empty one, or whether she was willing to make an assignation with a lowly security guard to get her daughter easier treatment; given her husband's profession, I rather suspected the former. Either way, I wasn't buying.

"You weren't here for the meeting, Zoe, so you didn't hear all the details, obviously," I told her bluntly. "Your daughter deliberately held a toilet stall shut so that Emma's two friends could pour juice and soda over the walls on either side on to Taylor, ruining her clothes and backpack, and damaging the books in her pack. Hardly a 'silly little prank'. Hundreds of dollars worth of damage, not to mention the mental trauma of such an act."

She blinked, taken aback by my words and my apparent immunity to her charms.

I wasn't finished. "And it's not just one little prank either. Taylor has verbally testified to events like this having happened basically every day since they started high school. She has _written_ evidence of such things dating back to September of last year."

I took a deep breath. "Your daughter, in other words, has been carrying out a directed, malicious campaign of bullying against her former best friend for the last eighteen months. Taylor's locker has been vandalised or broken into no less than four times. A flute belonging to Annette Hebert, given to Taylor after her death, was stolen from the locker, and destroyed by Emma's direct suggestion."

As my words sank in, she turned to look at her daughter. Gone was the seductress. Now, she was all business.

"Emma," she asked flatly. "Is this true?"

Emma was staring at me, eyes wide. I guessed it was the mention of the flute that got her. "Oh yeah," I told her, entirely untruthfully. "She sold you out."

"But it was Sophia who stole it in the first place, and destroyed it!" she burst out. "I never touched it!"

"Really," I observed.

Emma's eyes turned to her mother's face. Zoe Barnes looked from Emma to me and back again. "Emma Barnes," she said softly. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Is all this true?"

Instead of answering, Emma pointed at me. "Don't say anything around him," she told her mother. "He records everything!"

Zoe looked at me, her eyebrow raising. "Do you really?" she asked.

For an answer, I pulled out the digital recorder, the tiny light glowing brilliant red. "As a matter of fact, yes," I informed her. "Would you be interested in listening to the _fascinating_ recording of what Emma said when I caught her and the others bullying Taylor in the bathroom?"

"I believe that I would," Zoe Barnes told me, looking intently at Emma, who wilted before her gaze.

"I'll see about getting it to you, then," I noted. "In the meantime, I see that the Clements' are here, which means that it's time to take these two young ladies inside."

She nodded. "Thank you for laying the facts out for me, Mr Allen," she replied. "I won't be bothering you any more." She turned to Emma. "We will be having _words_ when you get home tonight, young lady. Anne-Rose was one of my best friends before she died. Destroying her property like that ... I'm ashamed of you."

She turned on her heel and walked off, passing Madison Clements and her parents.

"Morning," I greeted them, with a nod.

"Good morning, Mr Allen," Madison's father replied. "We can pick her up at three thirty?"

"End of the school day, yes," I agreed. "I'll be waiting out front with them."

He nodded. "Thank you, sir," he replied. "Let me know if she gives you any trouble."

"I'll keep that in mind," I assured him.

He reached out his hand; I shook it. Then he and his wife, who hadn't said a word, walked away.

I turned to the two teenage girls. "Let's get you inside," I told them.

=/=

"The rules are simple," I stated, as we entered the empty classroom which had been set aside for them. "You do not leave this classroom unless escorted by a teacher. You do not communicate with other students. You _can_ talk to each other, so long as you keep it down. You may read books, do homework, or study. You are not allowed access to school computers. You are not allowed the use of phones, electronic tablets, or any other electronic device that can be used for entertainment." I held out my hand. "So give."

"Give what?" asked Emma, playing dumb.

"Any phones, MP3 players, tablets, or anything else that you might have in your pockets or bags. They will go on the desk, and you can reclaim them at the end of the day."

"Fuck off! I'm not giving you my phone!" she exclaimed.

"So you're refusing to abide by the terms of the suspension?" I asked mildly.

The words hung in the air, until she suddenly clicked.

"Here!" she snarled, pulling it from her pocket and slapping it into my palm.

"Thank you, Emma," I replied politely. "Madison?"

The petite brunette was already pulling it out of her backpack. "Here you are, Mr Allen," she offered in a subdued tone of voice.

"And thank you, Madison." I took them up to the desk at the head of the room. "Take a seat anywhere, ladies. I'm going to sit here with you until home room is over, and your first period teacher arrives to take over. These phones will sit here on this desk. They will remain turned off. You may get access to them during lunch hour. It's as simple as that."

Sullenly, Emma plumped herself down at a desk; Madison sat beside her. I sat in the teacher's chair and leaned back, relaxing.

"Mr Allen," Madison spoke up, "can I ask you a question?"

I chose not to point out that she just had, and nodded. "Fire away, Madison."

"Where's Sophia?" she asked me. "Why isn't she here?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That's a very good question." I paused, formulating the answer. "She was angry at being caught out on Friday," I told them. "On Friday night, she came to my address, and attempted to ... assault me. I subdued her, and she was arrested and taken into custody. She's currently awaiting trial."

I watched the girls' faces as what I had said sank in. Madison looked vaguely confused. Emma's face went from puzzled to horrified as she realised what I was really saying. I looked at her mildly. "I presume you didn't know she was going to do this, Emma?"

She shook her head violently, her face pale. "No, Mr Allen, I didn't. You have to believe me!"

I chuckled. "It's fine, Emma. I believe you. This time."

She sagged back in her chair, looking honestly relieved. Madison looked at her curiously, but did not ask.

=/=

My relief for the first period was a male teacher. I recognised him from Friday, but did not recall his name. It didn't matter to me; I nodded to him, pointed out the phones on the desk, and made way for him to sit down. As I left, he was texting on the phone he'd pulled out of his own pocket. Anything to keep from being bored, I guess.

I roamed the first and second floors of the school, making sure all was in its place; however, at the end of the first period, I ensured that I was close to Gladly's classroom. This was another turning point in the story; in canon, she had been taunted by the other girls, egged on by Emma and her crew, and had ended up leaving the school more or less in tears. This had led her to go and meet the Undersiders for the second time. I was interested in seeing how it went this time.

=/=

_As everyone gathered their things and began to file out, Mr. Gladly approached Taylor and quietly said, "I'd like you to stick around for a few minutes, please."_

_She just nodded and put her books away, then waited for the teacher to finish negotiating where to meet the prize winners from the class contest so he could pay for their prizes. _

_If Greg and Sparky had done even one-tenth of the work that she had done, she would have been in that group. __**Oh well**__, she decided. __**Can't win everything.**_

_When it was just Taylor and Mr. Gladly in the classroom, he cleared his throat and then told her, "I'd like to talk to you about what happened on Friday."_

"_Okay," she replied, not sure how to respond._

"_I've known for some time that some people have been giving you a hard time in this class."_

_**Not any more,**__ she thought, though that wasn't strictly true. She'd caught Julia and a couple of others giving her poisonous glares when Mr Gladly wasn't looking. But with Mike on her side, with her new career as a superhero, with the fact that she'd beaten Lung last night ... a few nasty glances weren't going to even begin to cut it._

"_It's been known to happen," she agreed. "But Madison was the main ringleader. I don't think it's going to be a problem any more."_

_Mr Gladly looked uncomfortable. __**Good.**__ "If anything like that happens again, I want you to know that I'll be there to support you, make sure that it gets dealt with accordingly, all right, Taylor?"_

_She nodded. His words sounded nice, but she'd had those assurances before. It was only once Mike Allen turned up that the assurances had started to actually become reality. She seriously doubted that Mr Gladly had anything whatsoever to do with that. But what the hell, give him the benefit of the doubt just this once. "Sure," she said. "I've got to get to my next class."_

"_Okay, Taylor," he replied, with a relieved smile. "See you tomorrow."_

_She stepped out of the classroom and was immediately surrounded by girls. This was amazingly familiar, only the main three were nowhere to be seen. Half a dozen girls, led by Julia, pushed and shoved her back into a corner._

_Taylor didn't get angry, didn't get upset. She did exactly what she'd planned to do in this instance, and she readied herself._

"_Please step aside," she stated clearly._

_They ignored her, of course. The usual taunts started up; none spoken directly to her, but all aimed at her. Julia led the pack._

"_Nobody likes her. Nobody wants her here."_

"_Julia, I need to get to my next class," Taylor addressed the other girl. "You're in my way. Please step aside."_

"_Are you talking to me, Taylor?" Julia affected surprise. "I didn't notice you there, you're so skinny."_

"_Except for the smell," another girl added. "She stinks so badly. She really should shower."_

_"Ugliest girl in our grade."_

_Taylor saw Mr Gladly exit the classroom; he turned to lock it, then saw her and the other girls. She watched him, curious as to what he would do._

"_If I were her, I'd kill myself."_

_He looked her in the eyes._

_The girl's voice was clearly audible. "So glad we don't have gym with her. Can you imagine seeing her in the locker room? Gag me with a spoon."_

_And then he turned and walked away._

_**So that's how it is. Maybe I should have waved my arms and put up smoke signals.**_

_And then she saw Mike turn the corner, and accost Mr Gladly. She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face._

_Julia saw it, and frowned. "What's that smile for? Are you trying not to cry? Cry yourself to sleep for a straight week?"_

_Taylor's eyes snapped to Julia then, and she said firmly, "Move aside, or I will move you aside."_

_As she stepped forward, Julia put her hand up to shove Taylor back into her place. Taylor trapped her wrist, turned her arm, and put her into a perfect arm-bar._

_Julia went to her knees almost immediately; Taylor supposed that she was using a little more than absolutely necessary force. For some reason, this didn't seem to bother her._

"_Ow, fuck, ow, ow, ow!"_

=/=

I turned the corner, and there they were. Six girls, lacking of course the core three, but carrying on without them. Almost admirable in their loyalty. Almost.

They had Taylor backed into the corner, as had happened in the story. But her expression was almost serene. She was prepared for this.

Gladly was moving my way, eyes fixed ahead of him. Ignoring what was happening behind.

"Hey." I moved in front of him. "Gladly. Look behind you."

"Sorry, I'm in a hurry," he muttered, trying to duck around me. I'm fairly wide; this is not easily accomplished if I don't want it to happen.

"Gladly," I repeated. "Look. Behind you. Bullying at six o'clock."

He glanced over his shoulder. "They're just talking to her."

"They've got her trapped in a corner, Gladly. Want to hear what they're saying to her?"

"I can't hear anything," he told me.

"Ow, fuck, ow, ow, ow!" The girl's pained cry echoed down the corridor.

"Really?" I asked cheerfully.

Gladly finally turned around, to see Taylor holding Julia on her knees with an arm bar; the other girls had stepped back, watching wide-eyed as Taylor effortlessly kept Julia in place.

"Shall we go and see what's happening?" I enquired mildly. I was already on my way; Gladly caught up with a few running steps.

"Taylor, what are you doing?" he demanded as we approached the group. "Let go of Julia immediately!"

She ignored him, and looked at me; I nodded fractionally. She released Julia and stepped back; the heavier girl rose, rubbing her arm. "She tried to break my arm!"

"No, she didn't," I countered. "I taught her that hold, and from where I'm standing, she applied it perfectly." Taylor beamed.

"She grabbed me for no reason!" insisted Julia. "We were just talking!"

"Really?" I asked. "Taylor?"

Grinning even wider, she reached into her pocket and handed me the digital recorder. I examined it; it appeared that her father had picked a good one out for her. "This is Michael Allen." I gave the time. "I'm going to end this recording, so that I can take this to the principal." Then I turned off the recorder, slipped out the recording card, and replaced it with a blank one of my own.

"Here you go, Taylor," I told her, handing it back. "Nicely done."

"Thank you, Mr Allen," she replied politely. "Now I really have to rush, or I'll be late for class."

She trotted off; the girls were staring, and some were starting to sidle off as well. "Not so fast," I snapped. "You are all coming to the principal's office with me. You too, Gladly. You're a witness."

He looked from me to the girls and back again, but could not find a reason to refuse.

=/=

Principal Blackwell looked up with an expression of disfavour as I led the cavalcade into her office.

"Is this going to be a regular thing with you, Mr Allen?" she asked tartly.

"So long as bullying keeps happening in front of me, yes," I cheerfully agreed.

Her face took on an extra sour expression at that, and then she sighed and looked at the six girls. "So, what happened?" she asked.

All six girls burst out in their separate expressions of innocence. She bore it for about fifteen seconds, then turned to me. "Mr Allen?"

I held up the recording card. "Taylor Hebert, on my advice, now owns a digital recorder." I slotted it into my recorder, and pressed Play.

The 'conversation' played out, with interjections by Taylor, asking to be allowed to pass, shouted down or ignored by the girls. At one point, I stopped the playback. The girls were looking stricken. "Did you hear that?" I asked the principal.

"What was I supposed to hear?" she asked blankly.

I ran it back a few seconds.

"_Ugliest girl in our grade,"_ came out of the speaker. Then a tiny, but distinct, _click_.

"That click," I clarified, stopping the recording again.

Principal Blackwell furrowed her brow. "I don't get it ..." she mused. "What is it?"

"Mr Gladly here, locking the classroom door, five feet away from the action," I said bluntly. The aforementioned Mr Gladly immediately went several shades paler.

I pressed the Play button again, and the action went on. Clearly spoken insults, as would have been well within his hearing. And then Taylor warning Julia to step aside or she would be moved aside. This was, of course, followed by Julia's agonised cries.

"What was _that?"_ gasped Principal Blackwell.

I smiled slightly. "Taylor Hebert applying an arm bar to Julia, in order to move her out of the way. She had, after all, been warned. Three times."

Principal Blackwell shook her head. "We can't abide fighting in the school."

"Taylor wasn't fighting," I told her firmly. "It was a technique specifically designed to stop a fight. Six girls had her crowded into a corner, taunting her with insults. How was she supposed to get out of the corner? Asking clearly had not worked."

She stared at me, defeated. "So what do you suggest?" she asked.

"You're the principal," I reminded her. "You have six bullies here, and clear audio evidence of their crime. It's your jurisdiction." I paused. "But wait one second."

I ran the recording back one more time.

"_What's that smile for? Are you trying not to cry? Cry yourself to sleep for a straight week?"_

"Ah," I said. "Whose voice was that? Yours?" I pointed at Julia.

"Uh, yes?" she admitted; she could hardly deny it.

I nodded. "Phone. Now." I clicked my fingers twice.

She stared at me, then at the principal. "Do I have to give him my phone?"

Blackwell frowned. "I'm not sure ..."

"Then give it to her," I told Julia, pointing at the principal. "Open it to text messages, and hand it over."

"Why?" asked Julia stubbornly.

"Because if you don't, your punishment may well double," I stated. I had no idea as to whether I could back this up, but it seemed to work. She opened the phone, and put it on Blackwell's desk.

"What am I looking for?" asked the principal.

"A text in the last hour, from Emma Barnes," I informed her. "Body text will include the phrase 'cried herself to sleep for a week straight'."

It took ten seconds for the principal to find it. She read the damning text through, then rose to her feet.

"You took her to the classroom, yes?" she enquired of me.

I nodded. "Yes."

"And you had her hand her phone over?"

I nodded. Changing recording cards, I played back the relevant section.

"And yet, she sent a text message ... twenty-four minutes ago," she stated, looking at the timestamp on Julia's phone. "Inciting Julia to gather others and bully Taylor, with that phrase specifically included." She stared at me. "How did you know?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I know bullies," I offered, which was true, but of no help whatsoever.

She breathed deeply, and smoke almost seemed to curl from her nostrils. "Thank you, Mr Allen," she replied, with a nod to me. "I believe I can take it from here."

I nodded in return. "Thank _you_, Principal Blackwell," I responded politely. "I believe you can, too."

=/=

I followed along anyway, and entered the room to a tirade by Blackwell, aimed indiscriminately at the teacher and at Emma; Madison sat back, well out of the way of the storm. Emma was shouting her innocence at the principal; the teacher, bewildered but adamant, was claiming that no text messages had been made from the classroom.

I strolled down to the back of the classroom, where several art projects sat on a shelf. Reaching around behind one of them, I pulled out my second voice recorder. All eyes were on me as I returned to the front of the room. Silence fell as I clicked Play.

* * *

"_Mads. Ask to go to the bathroom, then cover me."_ Emma's voice, hushed.

"_What are you gonna do?"_

"_Just do it."_

A conversation ensued, where the teacher insisted that they both had to go if one went, and so both went. The twenty-four minute point came and went before they returned.

* * *

"So Emma lags behind just a bit, and scoops her phone up from the desk," I observed as I shut the recording off. "She makes sure she's first in on the way back, and puts it back. You can even just hear the clack as it hits the desk. Voila."

Principal Blackwell observed the two girls grimly.

"Phones," she gritted, "will be _confiscated."_

My work there was done; I departed.

* * *

End of Part Ten


	11. Chapter 11

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter 11: Interactions Great and Small

* * *

_Danny stood, arms folded, staring at Principal Blackwell._

"_So you're saying that Taylor was bullied, __**again**__, by six girls this time?" His voice was flat and hard, his expression grim._

_Blackwell nodded. "Mr Allen figured out that Emma Barnes had gained access to her phone, despite this being prohibited. She instructed another girl, Julia Morrow, to do it in her stead. Ms Barnes has had her phone confiscated; so has Ms Clements."_

_Danny frowned. "And why, exactly, have I been called away from work? Surely you can handle discipline matters on your own?" __**It's kind of your job**__, his demeanour suggested._

"_Oh, the girls are being punished," the principal told him, eager to show that she was doing the right thing. "Julia is undergoing in-school suspension for the rest of the week, while the other five are in there for the day."_

"_Seems a bit light," Danny mused. "After all, they've no doubt done this before. But I guess it's a start." He spread his hands. "But you didn't answer my question. Why am I here?"_

_Principal Blackwell took a deep breath. "Taylor attacked Julia," she told Danny in a rush. "Julia claims that Taylor tried to break her arm."_

"_Really?" responded Danny. "May I speak with my daughter about this?"_

"_Certainly," Blackwell agreed. "But you must understand, that sort of thing is simply not acceptable. Other avenues must be explored first. Violence is simply not an acceptable alternative."_

"_Did anyone ever explain that to Sophia Hess, I wonder?" asked Danny rhetorically. "I'd like to see Taylor now, please."_

_Abashed, Blackwell pressed a button on her intercom. "Send Ms Hebert in now, please," she instructed._

_The door opened, and Taylor entered. "Hey, Dad," she greeted him, looking rather cheerful._

"_Hey, kiddo," he replied. "Principal Blackwell tells me you've been fighting."_

_Taylor shook her head. "Not fighting. Julia and the others crowded me into a corner, and wouldn't let me out. I had my voice recorder on, so I got everything they said. And then I asked them to let me out, but they wouldn't, so I used an arm bar on Julia, just like Mike – uh, Mr Allen, showed me."_

_Danny frowned. "So they crowded you into a corner."_

_Taylor nodded. "Yeah."_

"_So, deprivation of liberty. How did they keep you there?"_

_Taylor shrugged. "Pushes and shoves, mainly."_

_Danny nodded. "Physical assault, right." He had pulled out a notebook and was writing in it. Principal Blackwell was looking rather nervous. He looked back at Taylor. "And what did they say to you?"_

_Another shrug from Taylor. "Oh, mean stuff. Same as usual. Ugly, stinky, I should kill myself. Emma must have texted Julia some really mean stuff, which she said to me just before I used the arm bar."_

"_What kind of mean stuff, exactly?" asked Danny carefully._

"_About how I felt after Mom died," Taylor said quietly. "I told Emma once that I cried myself to sleep for a week. Emma told Julia, and Julia used it on me."_

"_And then what happened?" Danny's voice was very low._

"_Well, I told Julia to move aside or I'd move her, and I stepped forward, and she went to shove me back, and I put her in the hold, and put her on her knees. And then Mr Gladly came back, and Mr Allen was with him, and told me to let her go."_

"_Wait a minute," Danny interjected with a frown. "Mr Gladly came __**back?"**_

_Taylor nodded. "He'd spoken to me in the classroom about keeping an eye on me if I got bullied again, but when he came outside and locked the classroom, and the girls were all saying stuff, it was like he couldn't hear it or anything. He just looked at me and walked away. But when Mr Allen came around the corner and spoke to him, he came back, after I put Julia in the hold."_

_Danny turned to the principal, who flinched back at the fury in his expression. "Am I to understand that Gladly __**walked away**__ from my daughter when she most needed his assistance?"_

"_We're investigating the situation," Blackwell stated hastily. "Mr Gladly will face disciplinary action."_

"_I should damn well hope so," Danny growled. "Those six girls should be facing criminal charges. Deprivation of liberty, physical assault, verbal assault ... I've had men get settlements in the tens of thousands for less. And you want to discipline Taylor for using a non-violent method for escaping the situation, especially after __**your**__ faculty member chose to ignore what was going on?"_

_Principal Blackwell shook her head. "I'm in a bind here. If the Morrows want to cause trouble over Julia being put in that arm bar, whatever __**that**__ is, then I need to be seen to be even-handed."_

_Danny rolled his eyes. "Even handed. Right. Which means the popular kids get their say and the quiet loners get marginalised. Okay. So what do you want __**me**__ to do about it?"_

_The principal gestured vaguely. "Talk to her. Explain that it's not the right thing to do."_

"_Oh, is that all?" asked Danny. He turned to Taylor, and composed his expression into sternness. Blackwell could not see, but his eyes were twinkling behind his glasses._

"_Taylor," he told her firmly, "what you did was wrong. __**Don't do it again.**__"_

_Taylor did her best to look meek and penitent, and nodded. "I won't, Dad," she promised._

_Turning back to Blackwell, Danny shrugged. "I've said my piece. Are you satisfied?"_

_The principal nodded. "Certainly. Taylor, you can go now."_

_Taylor nodded, and followed her father out._

_Principal Blackwell sagged back in her chair with relief. __**When did Allen give Taylor lessons in self defence?**__ was her first random thought._

_Her second was more focused: __**The sooner I expedite the transfer papers to Arcadia, the better. Because if Emma Barnes keeps inciting people to attack Taylor Hebert, I'll have more in suspension and detention than in class.**_

=/=/=

"_So, kiddo, you put her in an arm bar, huh?" asked Danny as they strolled along the hallway._

_Taylor grinned widely. "It was __**awesome**__. One minute she's saying all this nasty stuff about me, and the next, she's on the floor on her knees."_

_Danny eyed her critically. "One might imagine that you enjoyed it a little __**too**__ much, kiddo."_

"_Maybe just a bit," allowed Taylor. "They were being really mean. I think it was actually beginning to get to me, a little."_

"_Hmm," mused Danny. "Just remember, kiddo. Don't become a bully yourself, all right? Never set out to hurt someone just because you can."_

"_I'll remember not to, Dad," she replied solemnly._

"_Good," he replied. "Now, as for what I said in the office. Don't do it again, unless you're provoked." He grinned and squeezed her shoulder as they approached the doors. "But good job, all the same. Maybe now they'll think twice."_

_Taylor chuckled. "Some of them have trouble thinking __**once.**__"_

_They both laughed as he pushed open the doors that led outside._

=/=/=

I looked up at the sound of laughter; Danny and Taylor stepped out through the doors into the open air. Taylor looked a little surprised to see me, but Danny did not.

I had decided to bring a folding chair out to the front doors of the school so that I could enjoy my lunch in peace and quiet. This had the secondary purpose of allowing me to brief Danny properly before he went in to talk to Blackwell.

"So how did it go?" I asked him, although the smile on his face boded well.

"She didn't know what hit her," he replied, the smile spreading into a grin. "Thanks for the heads-up."

"Eh," I shrugged. "Least I could do. Heading off now?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Work calls."

"Ah well," I told him, standing up so I could shake his hand. "Have fun. I'll see you around sometime."

"Come over anytime," he replied. Trotting down the steps, he climbed into his car. It started on the second try, and he drove on out of the parking lot.

Taylor watched the car go, then turned to where I was sitting again.

"Is it okay if I eat lunch out here with you, Mike?" she asked.

"Sure," I agreed. "Just don't forget to call me Mr Allen on school grounds. People might get upset."

"Okay, sure," she responded readily. Seating herself on the step nearby, she pulled her lunch from her bag. After the first few bites, she turned to look at me. "Can I ask you some questions about last night?" she asked quietly.

I nodded; I should have known, I thought, there was more than one reason to sit with me for lunch. But I would answer her questions as best I could.

"Sure," I replied. "Fire away."

She chewed and swallowed another couple of bites before she spoke next.

"Last night, you said that we attacked and beat Lung to make sure that the Undersiders weren't killed by him. Is that right?"

"That's correct," I agreed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you who we were up against from the start, but ..."

"... but you have your reasons, and I get that," she told me. "You even let me make up my own mind." She paused. "The 'children' he was talking about killing were the Undersiders, weren't they?"

I nodded. "In the original timeline, when you were alone, you heard that, and decided to attack. Lung heard you stepping back on to the roof, and he jumped on to the rooftop. You hit him with pepper spray –"

"Which was why you gave me the extra-strength stuff –" Taylor interjected, a note of revelation in her voice.

I nodded again. "And the screamer. You didn't have that, the first time around. I figured it might be useful."

"Against someone with super-hearing, yeah," Taylor replied. "I _thought_ that was kinda convenient, after the fact."

"To be honest, I had no idea how well it would work," I confessed. "And the little trick, using bugs to carry the pepper spray back ..."

"It was actually something you suggested, last night, while we were driving around," she reminded me. I had no memory of saying it, but if she said so, it must be true.

"Yeah, it's something you'd do a lot, later on in your career," I observed. "And you pulled it off awesomely well. You're really picking up on the little tricks and gimmicks."

She flushed pink with pleasure. "It's not hard," she disclaimed. "Your suggestions are so simple and easy to follow."

I chuckled. "That's because they were originally your ideas, the other you. You're just using them now instead of later."

She tilted her head to one side. "So I'm really helping myself, in a way. You're just passing on the messages."

"That's a sort of weird way to put it," I agreed, "but yeah, not inaccurate." I got up and dusted my hands off. "Be back in a sec."

* * *

Descending the steps, I strolled across the parking lot to my car, retrieved the zippered wallet from behind the seat, and returned to where she sat. Opening it, I handed her another pepper spray and screamer. "Just in case," I advised her.

I stowed the wallet in my bag, as she tucked the innocuous little cylinders into her own backpack. "Thanks, Mr Allen," she said gratefully, then she paused, thinking.

"Can I ask _why_ you want the Undersiders alive and well?" she queried.

"Ah," I replied. "Before I answer that, have you gotten any strange messages over the PHO boards?"

She started. "I – I'd almost forgotten," she confessed. "Tattletale sent me a message thanking me, and asking who the hell you were."

"Did she ask to meet?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No, just wanted to thank me. And ask about you."

"Huh," I mused. "Originally, you met and chatted to them on that rooftop, after Bitch's dogs started using Lung as a chew toy."

"So they _did_ help out originally," she noted.

"Yeah," I told her. "You hit him harder and nastier this time round. But they were still grateful. See, they'd gotten word that Lung was after them, so they were discussing strategy. They headed into ABB territory and hit Oni Lee, Lung's henchman –"

"I read about him on PHO," Taylor added. "He teleports or duplicates or something, right?"

"Both. It's very annoying," I confirmed. "Anyway, they scared him off, but were wondering what was holding Lung up. In the original timeline, they came on the fight when you were in a bad position, completed the kicking of his ass, and then left before Armsmaster turned up."

"Armsmaster," repeated Taylor. "This time round, it was the others. They were friendly and polite."

I cleared my throat. "Armsmaster would have been a bit of a dick to you. But anyway, the next morning, Tattletale contacted you and asked to meet. Which you decided to do."

"Because they'd been nice to me," she realised. "But surely I didn't want to go from hero to villain straight away."

I grinned. "That's a story for another time. But as for your original question; I wanted the Undersiders to survive for two reasons. The first is that they aren't bad people, not as such. In the other timeline, you become best friends with Tattletale, and you also become close to Grue. You even form a friendship of sorts with Regent – though he calls you 'dork' all the time – and Bitch. I don't know if that sort of thing will be possible in this timeline, but I'd like to see if it could happen."

Taylor's eyes were wide. "Friendships with villains? Is that even possible?"

Thankfully, she did not pursue the 'close to Grue' aspect. I did not relish telling her about _that_ particular relationship.

I shrugged. "They're people. They've got their needs and wants and motivations. It may well be that just telling you has jinxed the very possibility of such a thing, but in that timeline, she took you under her wing when you were very close to becoming suicidal. Quite literally saved your life."

She looked up at me, her eyebrow raised. "Sort of what you did with me, here and now?"

I shrugged very slightly. "Maybe."

"Uh huh, no 'maybe' about it," she retorted, a grin lurking on her face. "So what's the second reason?"

I grinned. "Because they've got to rob a bank on the fourteenth."

She stared at me. _"What?"_

"Voice down," I cautioned her.

"There's no-one nearby," she told me smugly. "I've been practising scanning the area." She paused. "What do you mean, they've got to rob a bank?"

I drew in a deep breath. "They had to be healthy enough to pull off the job. Their boss is going to give them the assignment to rob the bank, at a particular time of day. I need it to happen, in order to get the attention of a certain person, who also needs my help. Not quite as badly as you needed it, but not far off it either. In short? I need to be able to walk her _out_ of the bank, just before it gets robbed."

Taylor was frowning. "But we can't just _let_ it be robbed."

"Oh, I intend to pass on the details to the authorities just before it happens, so that they will be more or less surrounded by the good guys before they have a chance to escape." I paused. "Actually ... how would you like to help out, as Weaver?"

Behind her glasses, her eyes got really wide again. "Help stop a bank robbery? Sign me up." She paused. "Is this going to be anything like the Lung fight?"

I shook my head. "Nope. You're gonna show 'em how a Master really does things. Here's how we're gonna do it ..."

=/=/=

"_So, how goes the investigation of that guy?" asked Brian, leaning over the back of the sofa._

_Lisa rubbed her eyes. She looked as though she'd had very little sleep; this was, in fact, the truth._

"_Frustrating," she growled, shutting the laptop down. "Perfectly normal life. Grew up on a farm out in the sticks. Mediocre to good scores at school. Drove a taxi for ten years, then got into security work for another ten. Absolutely nothing that jumps out, even to me." She frowned. "It's the little tiny inconsistencies that bother me."_

"_Not following you," Brian responded._

"_I read his age as forty-three when we met. Figured him to have a birthdate in August. And he does. But he was born in 1970, not '67. So he's forty."_

"_Looks old for his age?" hazarded Brian._

_She made a rude noise between her lips. "If I went on __**looks**__, I'd never get anywhere. I go on the total package, and my power told me he was forty-three. And there's the other thing, the weird bit."_

"_Which weird bit was that?" asked Brian patiently._

"_His accent," Lisa told him. "He was born in the United States. He's never travelled overseas. But he's got the very faintest trace of what feels like a British or Australian accent, right deep down, in back of his words. Like what you'd expect from someone who was born somewhere else, and moved here when they were very young. Or someone who's just recently visited another country. And neither one is true."_

"_So what now?" Brian prompted her._

"_Nothing," she replied grumpily. "I got no more leads to follow. So I guess I'll just have to wait till he talks to us again."_

"_So do you expect any answers from him at that point?" Brian enquired._

_She rolled her eyes. "A headache, is what I'll get. That son of a bitch is a mystery to me, and I fucking __**hate**__ mysteries."_

"_But you'll talk to him anyway."_

"_Try and stop me."_

=/=/=

Taylor and I finished lunch, and our discussion, without any interruptions. I folded my chair, and picked up my bag; she picked hers up at the same time. She went to bump my fist, then paused.

"What?" I asked.

"You're moving a lot more easily than you were last night," she told me. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, the stab vest has seen better days," I admitted, "but I'm feeling fine. I, uh, got some healing last night."

"Healing?" she asked with a frown. "From where?"

I paused. "I'd ... rather not say, at the moment. I will tell you at a later date, however."

She nodded consideringly. "Sure, but I'll hold you to it."

We bumped fists, then headed back inside.

I left Taylor to go her own way, while I went to drop off my bag in the small room which had been set aside for my bits and pieces. Before I set off on my next tour of the school, I glanced into the teachers' lunch room.

Mrs Knott sat there, chatting with Mr Quinlan.

"Hello, Michael," she greeted me, a smile on her face.

"Hi, Gladys," I replied. "Quinlan, how you doing?"

"I've been better, been worse," he grunted, heaving himself to his feet. "Sorry, gotta go and set up for next lesson. Little brats."

I watched him go, then sat down at the table. "Is it me, or did he leave because I came in?" I asked her quietly.

She looked a little pained. "Rumours _are_ getting around about what happened after first period. Mr Gladly has been telling everyone very loudly that you deliberately set out to get him in trouble."

I snorted. "Got _himself_ in trouble, more like," I corrected. "The trouble with that man is that he wants to be seen as the cool teacher, the students' friend. So much so that if he sees a situation that would normally require discipline, he'll ignore it if he can get away with it. Doesn't want to be seen as the 'uncool' teacher who actually enforces the rules."

I stopped, aware that she was staring at me.

"Uh, or so I've sort of gathered," I added lamely.

She shook her head. "No, you're spot on target. Only, I've never heard it put so succinctly before."

"Don't tell anyone, for gods sake," I asked. "I don't want to go about gossiping behind peoples' backs. That just kind of slipped out. Forget I ever said it."

She was looking at me speculatively.

"What?" I asked.

"You are a profoundly strange person, Michael Allen," she told me bluntly. "You can pick out a plot to bully Taylor Hebert from across the school, twice, and you can put your finger right on what makes the principal tick, as well as that Gladly clown – you can forget _I_ ever said that, thank you kindly – but in other ways, you're just as typically obtuse as the rest of your gender."

I blinked. "I, uh, thanks?" I ventured. "Can I, uh, ask, what I've missed by being 'typically obtuse'?"

She smiled and leaned in toward me. "Leaving me to run off yesterday springs to mind," she murmured. "Just when I would not have objected overly much to having you stay and keep me company."

I felt a warm flush sweep through my body. "I'm free this evening, I guess?" I told her. "If you don't mind going out for coffee in the evening?"

She folded her hands and beamed at me. "Why, Michael Allen," she declared. "I would _adore_ to go for coffee in the evening. What time would you like to pick me up?"

"I'll, uh, give you a call twenty minutes ahead of time. Is that enough time?"

She put her head to one side. "Make it half an hour, and it's a deal."

I grinned. "Half an hour it is." A pause. "I've really got to get going, check around the school. You know, this job they're paying me to do?"

She chuckled. "Go ahead. Make the school safe."

"Well, less _un_safe, I guess," I responded, eliciting another chuckle from her. Reluctantly, I stood and headed for the door.

=/=/=

There were ten minutes left in the lunch hour when I got to the third floor; I had originally intended to just do a quick sweep and work my way down, but then I heard the muted yelling. I headed that way, fast.

Just as I might have guessed, it was the gangs. Empire Eighty-Eight and ABB, junior chapters, looking to see who was top dog. They had forced the door of one of the unused classrooms, or found one unlocked; I didn't much care how it had happened.

Inside, the desks had been pushed to the walls, and the two gangs formed a rough circle, with two of their brawniest members in the middle, intent on pounding the living crap out of each other.

Personally, I would have let them go at it. But I _was_ the security guard, and it was more or less my job to put a stop to it. And in any case, if I let this go on, knives were likely to come out, and that could get very bad, very quickly.

They were so intent on the fight that I got right to the door before anyone noticed me. Taking a deep breath, I bellowed "Security!" as loudly as I could, then pushed through the circle to face the two in the middle. Heads turned toward me as if on springs.

I didn't give them a chance to think, to react.

"What the _fuck_ is going on here?" I demanded. "Fighting? Fucking _seriously?_ Did _I_ say you could fight in here?"

They stared at me, as if I had grown a second head.

"Don't have to fuckin' ask _you_ for permission, fat man," retorted one of the combatants, an E88 member by his shaved head. He was muscular, stocky, broader in the shoulders but a little shorter than his opponent. He went to shove me away.

I took his wrist, twisted it just so, spun him around, trapped his other arm, and ran him face-first into the wall. There was a _thud_ as his forehead struck. I opened my hands and let him drop, groaning, to the floor.

Compliance holds could, after all, be used in less than friendly ways. I just wasn't going to admit it to Principal Blackwell.

As I turned, the other one came at me. His shirt was off, but he had a red and green bandanna around his head. He was almost as tall as me, but a lot skinnier, had good muscle definition, and obviously worked out. He was also dancing on his toes; as he came in range, he spun, throwing a high kick at me. It was a good kick, a beautiful kick. He probably practised in front of a mirror with it. However, kicking anywhere above the waist was just asking for what I did next.

I let it hit me. If I was six inches shorter, it would have connected with my face. As it was, he hit the stab vest. I outweighed him possibly twice over; I didn't give an inch.

Had he hit me in the ribs, on the right side, where his erstwhile boss had shattered the plates, he would have had more of an effect on me. But as it was, the plates spread the impact perfectly.

I felt the thump, and then I grabbed his ankle with both hands. As he yelped with surprise, I twisted his foot against the way his knee and hip wanted to go. And then I kicked his other leg from under him. He hit the floor hard, knocking the wind out of him. I didn't bother letting go of his leg.

"I don't give a shit if you fight," I told the staring faces. "Beat the goddam fuck out of each other for all I care. Just not. In. My. Fucking. School. Got it? Good. Now get the fuck out of my sight."

I let go the leg and stepped back, arms folded. The ABB guy was up first. "You can't tell us what to fucking do," he mumbled; it was an attempt at a defiant tone, but he was still winded.

"You _want_ to go again?" I asked, stepping forward, into his personal space. He stepped back, and his leg nearly buckled. "No? Then it looks like I _can_ tell you what to fucking do. Take your friends and go. Don't let me catch you fighting in the school again."

As he limped off, supported by his ABB cronies, I turned to the E88 boy, who was just getting to his feet. "You heard what I said," I told him. "You fight outside of school, I don't give a shit. Fight in school, I kick your fucking ass. You want to argue, we can go again."

"You fight dirty," he muttered, giving me a look of reluctant respect.

"Only way to fight," I assured him. "Now take your boys and get the fuck out of here."

I watched as he stumbled off, half-supported by one of his buddies.

* * *

As soon as they were around the corner, I leaned against one of the desks and gave way to the shakes.

_That could have gone so wrong, _I told myself. _But hey, I can feel proud. I just beat up on a couple of high-schoolers. Go me._

They had been young and fit. I was more than twice the age of either one, almost twice the weight of either one, and although I wasn't fit, I had muscle and training. I'd known what I was doing. They hadn't. And that had made all the difference.

_Fat man, my ass_, I thought. _That's fat man __**sir**__ to you._

As I locked up the classroom again – at least they hadn't damaged it, getting in – I knew quite well that I would not be reporting that little salutary lesson to Principal Blackwell. If she disapproved of students fighting in school, god only knew what she'd say about the security guard joining in.

=/=/=

Down on the first floor, I passed Mr Gladly, escorting the girls back to their classroom from the cafeteria, where they'd eaten after everyone else had gone back to class. He said nothing to me, and I had nothing to say either. I gave him a curt nod and went on my way.

But the encounter gave me an idea. I decided to go and see the principal about it.

First, I checked on my appearance in the washroom, and was glad I had; there was a neat footprint across my chest, left there by the ABB high-kicker. I dabbed at it with a wet cloth until it was no longer evident. Explaining _that_ away to the principal, I figured, would have been mildly difficult.

* * *

Finally satisfied with my turnout, I tapped on her door. "Ms Blackwell?" I enquired. "A moment of your time?"

She looked up, instantly wary. "What is it now?" she demanded. "More bullying? A gang war?"

I held up my hands placatingly. "No trouble, this time," I assured her.

She visibly relaxed. "That's good to hear," she told me. "What is it?"

"Two matters," I began, stepping into her office and closing the door. I gestured enquiringly at a chair; she gave a quick nod to allow me to sit. "Thank you," I said as I seated myself. "As I was saying, two matters. One actually does regard the bullying, but it's more a way to reduce the fallout. The other is a personal matter of mine."

"Reducing the fallout?" she repeated, immediately interested.

I nodded. "I'd like to speak with Emma and her father after school today; just the three of us. Am I right in presuming that he's been trying to put pressure on you to reduce Emma's punishment?"

She didn't speak, but I read the answer in her silence. "Yeah, figured as much," I noted. "Well, as you may have figured, I've had the chance to speak to Sophia Hess and Taylor Hebert –"

"Wait," she interrupted. "Where is Sophia, anyway? What's happened to her? She never turned up, so I made a call, but they never called me back."

_You never noticed Taylor skipping school, but Sophia's a whole different matter, isn't she?_ But I didn't speak the thought out loud.

"Sophia ... is in custody at the moment," I informed her. "A serious matter. She won't be returning to Winslow."

She blinked rapidly. "Oh," she replied blankly. "Was it something you –"

I shook my head. "She committed a crime, and got caught. But I did manage to speak with her. Also, I have spoken at length with Taylor Hebert. And I believe that if I can get the chance to speak with Emma and Alan Barnes, with the information I now possess, I may just be able to convince him to stop pressuring you."

She frowned heavily. "I don't know ..." she temporised.

"Look at it this way," I gently urged her. "If it works, you get the benefit. If it fails, you had nothing to do with it."

That obviously appealed to her; she rubbed her cheek thoughtfully. "You understand, you may not make any promises or deals on behalf of the school, yes? Nothing you say to them is binding until I've had a chance to review the recording."

I hid a half-smile; she was catching on to my habit of recording _everything._

Except the fight upstairs; _that_ had been off the record.

"Well, yeah," I agreed readily. "It's just gonna be a talk, me to her, with her dad there to watch and listen."

She thought it over carefully. I could _see_ her thinking it over carefully.

"... all right," she said at last. "You can talk to them after school is done. Use the guidance counsellor's office." She paused. "Do you want me to sit in?"

I shook my head. "If the matter comes up, I will provide you with the recording. But I expect we'll keep it between ourselves."

"And you say that this might get Alan Barnes off of my back?" she asked.

I nodded. "I'm hopeful of it, anyway. It certainly shouldn't make matters worse."

"Well, your other suggestions have panned out reasonably well," she admitted, "so I'll let you have this one. You have my permission to speak with Alan and Emma Barnes after school." She paused. "What was the other matter, the personal one?"

"Ah." I was mildly embarrassed; I had totally forgotten it, and had been about to stand up. "Yeah, I might need an extended lunch break on Thursday. I need to get some stuff done in the city."

"You won't be gone too long?" she asked of me.

I shook my head. "Hour and a half, tops," I assured her.

"That should be fine," she agreed. "Let me know when you're about to go, and when you get back."

"I can do that," I agreed. "And thanks again for letting me speak with the Barneses."

"Just don't make matters worse, is all I ask," she told me bluntly.

"I will do my very best," I assured her, rising. By the time I reached the door, she was already bent over her paperwork again.

Just outside her office, a thought struck me.

_I keep forgetting to do this._

I went to the washroom, checked to see that the stalls were all empty, entered one, pulled out my phone and made a call.

=/=/=

_The phone rang, again. Director Piggot glared at it, but it rang anyway._

_Irritated, she snatched it up. "Director Piggot's office," she snapped._

"_**Director Piggot,"**__ she heard, __**"I have a caller requesting to speak to you directly. He says the name is Security."**_

_Emily didn't hesitate. "Put him through," she replied._

_There was a moment of dead air, then the familiar voice. __**"Hello?"**_

"_This is Director Piggot. I'm speaking to Security?"_

"_**That's me," **__he confirmed. __**"I've just got a message that needs to be passed on to Miss Militia. I promised her I'd pass on some information, as soon as I had it confirmed."**_

_She nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "What's the information?"_

"_**Tell her, 'left foot'. Bakuda has the toe rings on her left foot."**__ He paused. __**"I presume you know what I'm talking about."**_

"_I do," she told him. "She made her report to me this morning. Thank you for that information; I'll pass it on to her soonest. Was there anything else?"_

"_**Well, there's gonna be some diversionary crimes for the kidnapping on Thursday,"**__ he stated. __**"I'm still working on the exact when and where. But the kidnapping's the big thing. You have to ensure that there's absolutely no chance it can happen. Even if you see no evidence of any possible attempt. The bastard's tricky as hell."**_

_Piggot snorted. "Trust me, with this much lead time, we can make it solid," she assured him. "And any more information you can give us will be gratefully accepted."_

"_**You'll get it when I can give it to you,"**__ he replied. __**"See you later."**_

_She was already putting the phone down when she heard the connection end._

_**Left foot,**__ she thought. __**And possible diversionary crimes.**_

_**He's adamant for the kidnapping to not go through. Sounds scared, almost.**_

_**From what I heard this morning, if he's scared, I should be terrified.**_

_Piggot privately vowed to make the cover on Dinah Alcott as airtight as possible._

=/=/=

I stood on the steps outside the school, with Principal Blackwell beside me, along with Julia, Emma and Madison. The other five girls, released from their punishment at the end of the day, had bolted like frightened rabbits. I suspected that it would be a while before they attempted to assist in bullying anyone again, much less Taylor Hebert.

Talking of Taylor, I saw her descending the steps, head high, moving confidently. She didn't seem to look our way, but a fly buzzed in my ear for just a moment before zooming off again.

I spotted Alan Barnes' bulk moving through the crowd before I saw Madison's parents. I didn't see Zoe Barnes at all. Two more adults, who I took to be the Morrows, were also moving against the stream of students toward where we stood at the top of the steps.

Alan Barnes reached us first. "Come on, Emma, let's go home," he told her.

"Uh, Mr Allen wants to talk to us," she replied in a subdued voice. "Principal Blackwell has said it's okay."

"Talk?" he snapped sharply. "I've got nothing to say to _you."_

"Quite likely," I agreed. "But there is stuff you need to hear about. Off the record."

His gaze sharpened. "Off the record?" he repeated.

"Totally," I agreed.

He paused.

"Half an hour, tops," I observed. "Just talking."

The curiosity was beginning to take hold now, I could see. He paused, irresolute.

I waited, an expression of bland politeness on my face.

"... fine," he growled. "Just talking. Off the record."

"You got it," I agreed cheerfully.

I turned, to see that Principal Blackwell had dismissed Madison's parents with their errant daughter, and was escorting the Morrows in toward her office, so that she could discuss with them what _their_ girl had done.

The last few students surged past us, and down the steps. We were alone.

"Well," I observed, "time for that chat."

=/=/=

I opened the door to the guidance counsellor's office, and waved them to seats. Shutting the door carefully, I sat down myself.

"So, what's this about?" asked Alan Barnes. "And have you shut off your damn voice recorders?"

I grinned briefly. Pulling out both recorders, I shut one off. Placing a fresh card in the other, I started it and said clearly, "This is Michael Allen, security guard. The date is April eleven, two thousand eleven. The time is ... three forty-two. I am in the guidance counsellor's office with Alan Barnes and Emma Barnes, and we are going to talk over private matters. This recording is strictly to ensure that no-one makes any false statements about what happened during this session, and is otherwise inadmissible for any legal purpose. Alan Barnes, do you agree to those conditions?"

He paused, thinking about what I had stated, and then nodded. "I am Alan Barnes," he declared in his best courtroom voice, "and I deny that any part of this recording has any legal standing. The date is April eleven, twenty eleven, and the time is three forty-three PM. With me is the security guard Michael Allen, and my daughter Emma. Emma, do you agree to these conditions?"

Emma cleared her throat, and spoke quickly. "Yeah, what they said. It's just to make sure no-one can say shit about it afterward. I'm Emma Barnes, and the time and date my dad said are correct."

"Good," I stated, and placed the recorder in the middle of the table. "So, let's begin. Emma. This is all about you."

"Me? What about me?" asked Emma, gaining some level of defiance from having her father in the room.

I smiled slightly. "Just so you both know, I know that Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker. And I know that you both know. That's for starters."

"I figured something of the sort," growled Alan Barnes. "How did you find out?"

"Principal Blackwell told me. I signed an NDA, otherwise Taylor would be attending as well," I informed him.

"What's Taylor got to do with this?" Emma wanted to know.

"Everything," I informed her. "But as she's not here, let's move on."

I took out the other recorder, slid in a particular card, and found the right spot. Then I pressed Play.

* * *

"_You."_ It was Sophia's voice.

"_Me."_ My voice. _"Can I help you?"_

There was harsh laughter. _"Can you fucking help me. What the fuck is this? I'm going to fucking kill you, you fat fuck."_

"_Why?"_ my voice asked. _"What did I ever do to you?"_

"_You fucked with me, asshole,"_ Sophia snarled on the recording. _"It was none of your fucking business what I do to who, and you had to stick your nose in. You fucking got me in-school suspension. And they're gonna be looking hard at me, seeing if there's a way to boot me back to juvey without looking too bad."_

"_So your handler's not able to whitewash it this time, huh, Sophia?"_ My voice was sympathetic.

"_How the fuck did you know about that?"_

"_I'm good at my job,"_ my voice on the recording commented mildly. _"Anyway. Isn't murder a little bit over the top for what I did?"_

"_**I don't lose**__. Not to disgusting old fat fucks like you. So you're gonna die in a tragic home invasion gone wrong, they're gonna find kiddie porn on your computer, then Emma's father is going to speak to the principal. You're shown up as a pedo freak, everything you've said and done is thrown out, the suspension is lifted, and life goes on. __**I fucking win."**_

* * *

I pressed Stop.

Alan and Emma were staring at me.

"Shadow Stalker broke into my home at one AM Saturday morning, and attempted to murder me," I observed blandly. "She's currently in custody, awaiting trial."

"I didn't know anything about that," Alan stated firmly. "If you take that to the police –"

"Relax," I advised him, leaning back. "As a lawyer, you're basically morally bankrupt, but I will grant that you're not a fucking moron. I'm just letting you know that I _know_ stuff. I've spoken to Sophia, you see. Her and Taylor. And it's amazing what I've pieced together. Stuff that you're possibly not even aware of."

He tilted his head. "Such as ...?"

"Such as the incident that happened around August, two thousand and nine," I mused. "You were driving through town, talking to Emma, trying to get her to pick a subject for out of school study. Ballet, horseback riding, modelling classes or violin. And she was being a typical fourteen year old brat and not picking any. Right?"

He stared at me. "Right," he replied at last, though I could see him trying to figure out how I knew.

"And then Taylor rang you, Emma, and you were talking to her, and she was telling you about nature camp, and you were enjoying it, right?"

Emma nodded.

"So you turned down a side street, and it was blocked at the far end by a dumpster. And then there was a van behind you. And there were ABB. And they dragged you from the car, didn't they, Emma?"

My voice had gone gentle; I didn't need to traumatise her right now. She took a deep shuddering breath, and looked at me.

"Yeah," she replied shortly. "They did."

"And they cut off a bit of your hair, they were talking about cutting off your ears, or cutting out an eye, or slicing your lips up, and they stuffed your hair in your mouth and told you to eat it, and then choose which one they were going to do to you, didn't they?"

Alan put his arm around Emma, who was beginning to shake. "What the fuck is this?" he demanded. "How do you know this? What are you doing this for?"

"I'm getting to it," I told him. "Because then you saw her, didn't you? Shadow Stalker. And what was she doing?"

Emma didn't reply.

"I'll tell you what she was doing," I said to Alan Barnes. "She was on top of your car. Watching. Waiting. Not helping Emma in the slightest."

"No, no, that's wrong," he protested. "She did help. She beat them bloody. She saved Emma."

I nodded. "Oh, she did all that," I agreed. "But only _after_ Emma fought back. Pushed the girl. If she hadn't ... well, they would have done what they were going to do to Emma ... mutilation, rape, worse ... and then she would have punished them for the crime. But that wouldn't have helped Emma very much, would it?"

"But she _did_ fight back!" he blustered. "My Emma's a strong girl! A fighter!"

She gave him a grateful look.

"Really?" I snapped. "Is she smart enough to know that against people with knives, your best option is to run like hell?" I stood up. "Mr Barnes, I am a trained security guard. I have been _specifically_ trained with techniques to deal with people in close-in situations. And I'm still issued with a stab vest." I knocked on the vest with my knuckles, producing a sharp rapping noise.

Unbuttoning my left sleeve at the cuff, I pushed it up to show the thin red line where the knife cut had been. "Not so long ago, I was face to face with a man with a switchblade. He was smaller than me. I'm trained. I knew exactly what to do. And he _still _cut me."

They stared at the scar, then back at my face. I sat down, pushed the sleeve down again, began to button it.

"But they were going to cut me anyway ..." Emma began.

"Yes," I sighed. "There is that. Which comes back to Sophia. She expected you to fight back, no matter what. No matter if it got you cut, mutilated, or killed. Her expectation of you was that if you didn't fight back, you didn't deserve rescue."

I looked Alan Barnes dead in the eye. "Is that the sort of person you'd call a hero?"

He stared back at me for a long moment, then dropped his eyes. "No," he admitted. "It's not."

"But she still saved me!" protested Emma.

"We're getting to that," I told her. "So, after it was over, you left. You, Emma, were horribly traumatised by the whole thing. Which, mind you, could have been easily avoided if she'd _just taken action sooner._Do you disagree, Mr Barnes?"

Alan Barnes shook his head. "No," he stated. "No, I do not." His voice was quiet.

"And then Emma goes back to the site. And she encounters Sophia. Who's probably been following her, watching to see if she would." I paused. "Stalking."

Emma's eyes opened wide. "No," she protested. "It's not like that!"

"Ah, so it's a coincidence," I mused. "Do you believe in coincidence, Mr Barnes?"

A long pause. He shook his head. "No, I do not."

"Nor do I," I continued. "Now, right now, Emma's in a very fragile mental state. She encounters the girl who saved her. Sophia espouses her personal world-view. It's all about the strong and the weak. Those who fight survive; those who submit die. She impresses Emma so much that she decides to be one of the strong ones. She doesn't want to die. Who does, when it comes down to it?"

Silence. They watched me carefully.

"So, roll on a few weeks. You've been avoiding talking to Taylor on the phone, because you don't want her _pity_, because pity's for the weak. But more than that, you're envious because Taylor's been getting better from her mother's death. She's shown her strength, gradually getting better, day by day. And you don't want to appear weak next to her."

"Taylor ..." I couldn't tell what Emma meant to convey with that tone.

"Oh yeah," I told her. "We're down to Taylor now."

Alan was looking from me to his daughter and back.

I went on. "I can pretty well pinpoint the time you decided to make Taylor weak so as to appear strong. It was when Sophia was there, and Taylor got back from nature camp. She came over, all happy and gawky, looking nine instead of fourteen, and Sophia disapproved of her. And you were still very insecure in your newfound strength, and you didn't want Sophia thinking you were weak, so you didn't back Taylor up. And then Sophia – being the natural bully she is – tripped Taylor on her way out. And there was your cue."

"But that's not the way it was," Emma protested. "I wasn't trying to push her down. I was trying to make _her_ strong. Toughen her up."

"Really?" I asked. "So the flute was all about toughening her up?"

"The flute?" asked Alan Barnes, his voice sounding rough. He cleared his throat. "What flute?"

I smiled thinly. He obviously had not spoken with his wife on the subject. "Anne-Rose had a flute; do you recall it?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Well, after she died, Danny gave it to Taylor. A keepsake of her dead mother. Such a thing, you can imagine, would be precious to a heartbroken child."

He nodded again, silent.

"Well, one day, having been bullied relentlessly for weeks, Taylor brought the flute to school. It was something that reminded her of her mother. If she could see it, look at it, touch it, between classes, she reasoned, it would give her strength to go on. Let her feel as though she had backup."

Alan Barnes looked ill; he thought he could see where this was going.

"Sophia stole it from her locker. Taylor went to Emma and asked for it back. Begged. _Pleaded._ And Emma told her ... you remember what you told her, Emma?"

We both looked at the redhaired girl. She hung her head, refused to reply.

"It seems that she does," I observed. "She taunted Taylor, told her that she shouldn't have brought it to school if she didn't want to lose it. Then she left Taylor and went to Sophia. Asked her if she'd taken it. Sophia said yes, she had. Asked Emma what she should do with it."

I looked at Emma. "And she considered giving it back, just for a moment. But she didn't want to step back to being the old Emma, the weak Emma, the Emma that was friends with Taylor. So she told Sophia to fuck with it, do something disgusting to it, wreck it. Anne-Rose's flute. Anne-Rose, who never did a bad thing to either one of you."

Alan Barnes looked at his daughter, his expression puzzled, as if he wasn't quite sure what he was looking at.

Emma looked up at him, tears streaking her face. "It wasn't like that," she whispered. "It wasn't like that. I didn't mean it the way you're saying."

"Emma." My voice was flat and hard; her gaze snapped to mine. "In all the time you were tormenting Taylor, in all the eighteen months, did she ever snap back, hit back, fight back?"

She nodded hesitantly. "Sometimes, early on, yes," she ventured. "But Sophia said it wasn't enough, she had to prove she was strong, prove she was a predator and not prey. And then she just ... stopped reacting."

"So then you were just trying to break through the shell, to make her react, make her cry, is that it?" I pressed.

She rolled her eyes. "It got to be just about fuckin' _impossible_," she complained. "After the locker ..."

She paused, her eyes wide.

"After the locker ... yes," I mused. "Oh yeah, I know about the locker. I know it was you three. I know it was Sophia who grabbed her by the hair and shoved her in there, but it had to be you and Madison who helped her."

She swallowed, and looked at her father.

"Just to reiterate," I stated clearly. "Nothing that is admitted during this little conversation is going to be grounds for punishment. I already knew it. I just wanted to make sure that both of you knew it." I raised my eyebrows at Alan Barnes. _"Did_ you know this about your daughter?"

"No," he said hollowly. "I didn't."

"Well, it looks like we're about done here," I said, stretching. "I'd just like you to do me a personal favour, Mr Barnes?"

He looked at me warily. "What?"

I shrugged slightly. "Stop bugging Principal Blackwell about letting Emma off her in-school suspension, hm?"

He looked at me, then at Emma. "Yeah," he said quietly. "You got it."

I stood up, and picked up the voice recorder. "One more thing, Emma, before we end this."

She looked up at me, her expression even more shattered than before.

"Just because someone with a stupid fucking philosophy of life does you a huge favour does not make that philosophy right. It's still fucking stupid. Sophia can't really help the way she is; her power fucked her head up. You don't have that excuse. You can change. It's up to you."

"But I _did_ change!" Emma protested. "Sophia showed me how! I was weak, now I'm strong! I am!"

"Yeah," I observed. "So ... how's that working out for you, exactly?"

Holding up the voice recorder, I spoke clearly. "This recording is being ended now." I gave the time, and then turned the recorder off. Before anyone could speak, I held up a finger. "I'm now turning my other recorder back on. Just so you know."

Alan Barnes had been about to speak; he shut his mouth again.

"Thanks for that talk," I said to Alan as I opened the door. "I hope we don't have to have it again."

He shook his head. "No," he observed. "I think, however, we will be continuing it at home."

"Might be a good idea," I commented. "Also, ask her about the time she went out and about with Sophia, and what happened that night."

Emma whipped her head around to stare at me. Alan observed the motion, and looked at me. "Is it ... bad?" he asked.

"Ask her," I advised him. "If she's smart, she'll be honest."

"Yes," he agreed. "She will."

* * *

We faced each other in the hallway.

"Mr Barnes," I said.

"Mr Allen," he replied.

And then he held out his hand. I shook it.

"Thank you," he told me. "It wasn't in the least bit pleasant, but I think I needed to hear it."

I nodded. "You might consider getting her therapy," I suggested.

"After that," he stated, "I think we both need it."

It was a feeble joke at best, but we both chuckled.

"Come on, Emma," he told his daughter, and they turned and walked off down the hall.

I wasn't quite sure what was going to happen to her when she got home, but it wasn't going to be fun.

_Maybe she'll get all the shit knocked out of her head, and become a decent human being,_ I mused. _It's the best chance she'll ever get._

=/=/=

My good feeling lasted until five o'clock. I got my bag, signed the keys back in, and headed out to the front carpark, where my pickup was parked.

I was halfway down the front steps when I focused on my vehicle, and my steps slowed, and then stopped.

"Ah _fuck."_

One or another of the gangs that I had interrupted in their pissing contest had decided to show their displeasure.

I walked around the pickup, hoping that the damage wasn't as bad as it looked from a distance.

It was worse.

The tyres were slashed, the windscreen was shattered, and obscene slogans had been daubed over the paintwork, mainly in red and green. Someone had made an effort at kicking in the panelling, but the old pickup was tough; that, at least, would be easily fixed.

The rest ... would cost a lot. Far too much.

I went back and sat on the steps, looking at my forlorn vehicle.

"_Fuck."_

* * *

End of Part Eleven


	12. Chapter 12

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Revelations

* * *

I sat there for perhaps fifteen minutes, unable to stir myself to do anything constructive. Then, mechanically, I got up, pulled my phone out, and walked around the pickup, taking photos from all angles. After that ...

"_You have dialled nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?"_

"I, uh, someone's trashed my car. How do I go about reporting this?"

"_Sir, are you in immediate danger?"_

"No, no, whoever did it's long gone. But my car's a write-off. How do I report it?"

I could swear that the impersonal voice sounded faintly disgusted. _"Please dial the non-emergency police call line, sir. This line is for emergencies only."_

And then there was just a _click_ and the call was cut off.

I didn't _know_ the police non-emergency call number.

Mike Allen, the security guard from Earth Bet, would have.

I sighed. I was out of options. I dialled another number.

=/=

_Danny Hebert leaned through the basement door. Downstairs, Taylor was doing push-ups; he could hear her puffing from the kitchen._

"_Pasta bolognese all right for dinner tonight, kiddo?" he called down the steps._

_She paused, came up on to her knees, sweat causing her hair to stick to her face. "Sure, Dad," she called back. "Want a hand?"_

"_No, I'll be fine," he replied. "You just keep that up."_

_The puffing returned as he went to the fridge to get the ingredients out._

_And then the phone rang._

_He closed the fridge door and went to answer it. "Hebert residence, Danny speaking."_

"_**Ah yeah, hi, Danny,"**__ he heard. __**"I hate to bother you like this, but would I be able to get a favour off you?"**_

_Danny blinked. The voice was Mike's, but this was the most down he'd ever heard the man sound. Even after Lung, even during the shakes, he hadn't sounded this defeated._

"_Well, yeah, sure, Mike," he responded automatically. "What's the matter?"_

_He heard a sigh. __**"Some little shits trashed my vehicle. Would I be able to get a lift home? I don't know when the next bus is."**_

_Danny's head came up. "Trashed your car? Christ, are you all right?"_

"_**Yeah, yeah, I'm fine,"**__ Mike told him. __**"I never saw them. Just came out after my shift was over, and it's all done. Tyres slashed, paintwork ruined, windshield shattered ... they really had a go at it, Danny. I don't even know how I'm gonna get it towed. How much does that sort of thing cost, anyway?"**_

"_Listen," Danny told him. "Stay right there. We'll be right over."_

"_**Yeah well, it's not like I'm going anywhere in a hurry, is it?"**__ Mike replied, in a faint echo of his usual cheerful tone._

_Danny hung up, and then called down into the basement, "Taylor, are you nearly finished?"_

_Taylor paused her pushups again, and called back, "Not really, but I can finish up later. What's the matter?"_

"_Someone trashed Mike's car at the school," Danny told her. "He's asked if he can get a lift home. You want to come along, or stay here?"_

"_Oh, that's terrible," she replied. Moments later, she was at the top of the steps. "I want to come along. Have I got time for a shower?"_

"_Make it quick," Danny told her. "I've got a couple of phone calls to make, and then we're going."_

_Taylor bolted up the stairs._

=/=

I hung up from the conversation with Danny – _at least I can get home from here_, I mused – and then I remembered my conversation with Gladys. She would be waiting for my call.

I dialled her number and heard the phone ring on the other end. For a few moments, I thought she wasn't going to answer – had I interrupted her in the middle of a shower? – and then she picked up.

"_My goodness, Michael," _she greeted me. _"I didn't expect you to be calling so early."_

"I'm really sorry, Gladys," I told her, "but I guess the date tonight is off, due to unforseen circumstances."

Testiness crept into her voice. _"Unforseen circumstances, such as had you running off yesterday afternoon in such a rush?"_

"No, nothing like that," I protested. "I had a bit of a run-in with some of the gang kids at school today, so they trashed my car." I drew a deep breath. "I'm really sorry. I wanted to take you out to the Boardwalk. I ... would I be able to take you out some other time?"

"_Oh, Michael,"_ she replied, immediately contrite. _"I had no idea. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I was looking forward to the date."_ She paused. _"I can give you a lift home, if you want."_

I blinked. "You have a car?" I asked stupidly. _No, you idiot, she has a hovercraft. Of __**course **__she has a bloody car._

"_Oh, yes," _she replied at once. _"I take it shopping. I don't like to take it to school, for more or less the exact reason you're making this phone call."_

"Oh," I replied. "If I had known, I would've called you first. But I've already called Danny Hebert. Sorry."

"_An understandable mistake," _she told me, her voice warm. _"But thank you anyway. We'll reschedule the date for later then?"_

"Just as soon as I'm able to get mobile again, yeah," I told her. "Thanks for being so understanding."

"_No apologies necessary," _she assured me. _"These things happen."_

We shared a few more platitudes, then ended the call.

=/=

Nothing much happened for another twenty minutes, then a large pickup rolled into the parking lot. I frowned. The Heberts had a car, not this monstrosity.

The mystery was partially solved when Kurt and Lacey climbed out of the vehicle.

"Mike," Lacey greeted me. "You're all right?"

I nodded. "They did it while I was inside." I paused. "Um ... why are you here?"

Kurt turned from his surveying of the pickup. "You called Danny. Danny called us. You need help. That's what we're here for."

"Wait, what?" I asked.

Kurt clapped me on the shoulder; I was fairly sure I was going to show a bruise, later.

"When the Association says they'll help you out, Allen, they mean it. So we're here to help you out."

I was spared from making a bigger idiot out of myself by an inrush of cars and pickups that made the lot look busy again. Danny and Taylor got out of one of the cars, and approached me.

"Christ, Mike," he greeted me with a look of concern. "You look like shit."

"Dad!" protested Taylor.

"It's all right, Taylor," I assured her. "I feel like shit too." I gestured at the pickup; "I've had that beast for more than twenty years. Nothing like this has ever happened to it before. There's a bit of an emotional attachment, you know?"

He put his arm over my shoulders, and led me toward the group of people now crowding around the stricken vehicle. Serious voices were discussing the damage, and how it could be most easily fixed.

"Well, we're gonna see how quickly we can get it back on the road," he confided. "Kurt, how does it look?"

Kurt straightened from an inspection of the underbody.

"None of the essentials are damaged," he reported. "Hood wasn't opened, so the engine should be fine. It's just cosmetic stuff. Luckily, they didn't torch it. We could have it back on the road in a day or so, a week if you wanted any sort of a good paint job."

"Wait, wait," I protested. "All that costs money. I need to know how much before I'll know if I can afford it."

Kurt chuckled, and nodded to Danny. "You tell him," he advised, and then turned to guide the movements of a flatbed tilt-truck as it backed up to the pickup.

I looked at Danny. "Tell me what?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Most of the guys are good with machinery of one sort or another. They'll do the work in their own time, and charge you just for parts, not labour. Anything they've got spare lying around, they'll use that instead of buying something new. And if you can't afford it all at once, you just pay it off as you can. It's the Association way. Times are tough all over, so we help each other out."

I blinked. "The Association way?" I asked. "I don't recall joining the Association."

He nodded toward Taylor, as she stood nearby, watching with interest as the flat bed of the truck tilted downward, and they prepared to affix chains to the front of the pickup. "The day you helped her out, you as good as joined. And today just sealed the deal."

I shook my head. "I didn't do it to get in good with you, Danny," I protested.

He shrugged. "Tough. You get the favour anyway."

"Well, I'd be stupid not to accept," I allowed. "Thanks. If I don't get the chance, thank everyone who's helping out here, for me." I dug out my keys, separated the one for the pickup, and tossed them to Kurt; he opened the driver's side door and climbed in. Taking the handbrake off, he unlocked the steering wheel and rode up on to the flatbed with the pickup, steering carefully. The electric winch on the back of the truck provided motive power; the flat tyres rolled up on to the truck rather squishily.

Danny nodded. "It's not necessary. Friends don't count the cost. But I'll pass that on anyway."

I watched as the pickup was secured with tie-down chains. The truck rumbled out of the parking lot with my sole means of independent transport on the back. Around me, others were getting into their vehicles and driving off, most with a wave or a word for me as they passed.

The sun was starting to set by the time the last one had left; there was just me, the Heberts, and their car.

"We were just about to put on some pasta bolognese," Danny offered. "You're welcome to come home with us and share."

I shook my head. "I appreciate it, I really do. But I think I just want to be alone for now."

"Sure," replied Danny. We climbed into the car, and he started it.

We travelled in silence for a little while, then Taylor leaned forward between the seats. "Mike," she ventured, "can I ask you a question about something you said last night, about the Undersiders?"

Danny chuckled. "What's this, Superheroes For Dummies?"

Taylor stuck her tongue out at him; I shrugged and answered, "Sure, fire away."

"You said that Tattletale was more or less forced into crime, and that Bitch never really had a choice. Does that happen a lot? People, who otherwise would never have done anything wrong, end up as criminals because of a mistake, or what someone else does?"

I nodded. "Oh god yes. There are some supervillains out there whose only crime was that the Protectorate cape or the PRT soldiers who encountered them thought they were a villain, attacked them, and they responded with equal force. Or their power went out of control just once, and ever since, they're branded a menace."

"So ... I could have become a criminal, if I'd had a bad encounter with the PRT last night," she realised.

I nodded. "Yes, Taylor," I told her, putting emphasis on the words, "you could have."

I couldn't say more with her father in the car, but from the way her eyes widened behind her glasses, she got the unspoken message.

"You seem to know a lot about the cape scene," Danny commented idly.

I shrugged. "It's a thing. I read up on it. If I meet a strange cape, I want to know whether to say hi or run like hell. And you get to hear interesting things, in the security game."

"I suppose you would," Danny agreed. He pulled the car to a halt. "This is your place, right?"

I nodded. "Thanks, both of you," I told them fervently. "I really appreciate it. I don't know what I would have done, otherwise."

Danny shrugged. "The Association takes care of its own." I shook hands with him, then bumped fists with Taylor – she still seemed to take a considerable satisfaction from doing so – and climbed out of the car. Heaving my bag off the floor, I closed the door of the car, and watched the tail-lights dwindle in the distance.

* * *

As I trudged toward the entrance to the courtyard, around which the apartment complex had been built, I was on guard. And so, when a figure climbed from a car to confront me, I wasn't totally surprised.

"I've been waiting for you," a voice came from the darkness.

"What the hell?" I blurted. "What are _you_ doing here?"

=/=

"_So how goes the search for information on our mysterious Mr Allen?" asked Brian over his shoulder as he and Regent circled each other in a clear space of floor._

"_Well, I've hacked the PRT mainframes," Lisa commented off-handedly, "and I know he went to meet with Director Piggot on Saturday morning. They were in her office, with Armsmaster, for seventeen minutes and thirty-six seconds, during which time Piggot sealed her office totally. There's no recording of what they spoke about, which makes me really, really itchy."_

"_Unless they were just having a threesome," joked Regent._

"_Ew, ew, ew," retorted Lisa, even as Brian hooked a leg behind Alec's ankle and dropped him to the floor. "That's just ... no. Whatever else they were doing, they weren't doing that."_

"_Seriously?" asked Brian, even as he helped Regent to his feet. "Two people are in a closed room together, all you can think of is sex?"_

"_What, don't you?" Regent wanted to know. "And it was three people."_

"_Not immediately, no," Brian told him severely. "Even with three people."_

"_What I find interesting," Lisa overrode them both, "is that a guard escorted him up, but he came back down alone."_

"_Which means ...?" prompted Brian, shaping up to Alec again._

"_That they trusted him more after the meeting than before," she elucidated._

"_And they didn't know about him before?" Brian asked._

"_Not really, except ... ah ha. The staff had been alerted to look out for someone using the name Security." The keys rattled on her laptop._

"_And this is our guy?" asked Alec, throwing a lackadaisical punch at Brian. Brian easily countered it, and jarred the smaller teen with a straight jab to the shoulder._

"_Well, he __**is**__ a security guard, so yeah," Lisa told him. "Just checking on something ... ah. Here's an email that came in the previous night, with Security in the username."_

_Alec rubbed his shoulder. "I don't like this any more. Go spar with Bitch."_

"_She already knows how to fight, and you need to learn," Brian told him seriously. "You won't always have your power or your sceptre handy."_

_He became aware that the rattle of keys had ceased, and that Lisa was staring at the screen, barely even breathing._

"_Lisa?" he asked. "Is there something the matter?"_

"_Holy shit," she said softly. "Holy shit."_

_The sparring session forgotten, they both leaned over the back of the sofa and read the email that had gone in to the PRT on Friday night._

_The tagline referred it to Director Piggot, and stated that it was urgent._

_The rest of it …_

* * *

_**Notes for your interest:**_

_**Leviathan will attack Brockton Bay on May 15, 2011.**_

_**The Slaughterhouse Nine will arrive in the city shortly after.**_

_**Jack Slash has two powers. The first one you know. The second is to anticipate what a powered opponent is about to do. So his ideal opponent is an armoured, trained mundane soldier.**_

_**The Siberian is a projection created by William Manton. The projection cannot extend its immunity to Manton himself.**_

_**More to come. **_

_**Security.**_

_**PS: Please tell Ms Richter that I have information about the thief.**_

* * *

"_Oh Christ," breathed Brian._

"_Fuck. Me," Alec muttered at the same time. "Is this ... is this for __**real?"**_

"_It reads that way to me," Lisa told him soberly._

_"What's that bit at the bottom mean?" asked Regent._

_Lisa frowned. "Not sure. Don't quite have enough data. It means __**something**__, that's for sure, but it's basically unconnected to the other information."_

_"Anything we should be concerned about?" asked Brian, getting to the heart of the matter._

_"Not that I can make out," Lisa confessed._

"_So what are we gonna __**do?"**__ asked Regent._

"_We've got a month," Brian noted. "We do nothing for now. Lisa, do some digging. Very quietly. Find out more about this guy, how he knows this shit."_

"_Well, no shit," she snorted. "What do you think I've been doing over the last twelve hours, playing fucking Solitaire?"_

"_Sorry, sorry," he apologised. "What avenues haven't you tried yet?"_

_She shrugged. "Asking him personally?"_

_He only hesitated for a moment. "Do it."_

=/=

"Now, what sort of a welcome is that?" asked Gladys Knott, eyeing me askance.

"Oh, shit, sorry, I –" I began, then cut myself off. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean –"

I shut up, feeling about three inches tall. I had the distinct impression that if I kept talking, I would only dig myself deeper, and so I closed my mouth and waited for her to speak.

She let me stew for what felt like half an hour, but must have been only about fifteen seconds. Then she chuckled and put a hand to my cheek.

"Michael," she chided me gently. "Michael, Michael, Michael. I _have_ heard that word before, you know. And much worse. You do not need to spare my feelings in that matter."

"I ... just don't like swearing in front of ladies," I mumbled.

"Admirable," she commented. "And very chivalrous. I don't see that very often."

I shrugged slightly. "It's the way I am?" I ventured.

She nodded. "I can see that," she agreed. She hefted the bag she held in her other hand. "This is getting heavy. Would you like to invite me up?"

=/=

I opened the front door, and flicked the light on. No-one was waiting for me this time; given the events of the day, I would not have been surprised to find the Simurgh herself curled up on my living room floor.

"Sorry about the clutter," I apologised as I stepped aside to let Gladys in. "If I'd known I'd be getting a visitor, I'd have cleaned up a bit."

She eyed the plastic replica of Armsmaster's halberd leaning against the wall. "You certainly like your cape memorabilia."

"Yeah, well," I replied uncomfortably. "It's a thing, you know?" I dumped my bag on the sofa and turned to her, but she was already heading for the kitchen.

"So, uh, not that I'm not glad to see you," I asked, following her, "but _why_ did you come over?"

She set the bag on the counter, and started pulling packets out of it. "Because you sounded unhappy and depressed over the phone, and I have always found a friendly face and a home-cooked meal to be the sovereign remedy for that."

I had to admit, it was sounding better all the time. "I, uh, what can I do to help?"

She gave me a please-keep-out-of-the-way smile. "You can go and shower and change, Michael. If you cannot take me out for a date, we can have the date right here."

I sighed, defeated. "Okay," I agreed. "But next time, it's the Boardwalk, and my treat. All right?"

She nodded absently, turning the stove on to pre-heat. "That sounds perfect. Now go shower."

I went.

=/=

_Lisa clicked on the 'Private Messages' tab, and entered 'mack0813' in the Recipients field._

_**Okay, **__she typed. __**You got me. I have no idea how you know what you know. You've had your fun. Now can you PLEASE tell me how you do it. You're driving me nuts. **_

_**Also, how seriously are we to take the information about L and the 8 plus 1? Freaking out just a little bit, over here. **_

_**Regards, Tt.**_

_She read it through twice. __**Hah, **__she told herself. __**Make him wonder how I got that information. He likes rattling cages, let's see how he likes it done to him.**_

=/=

I stepped out of the bathroom, showered and changed and feeling like a new man. Or at least, less like an old man.

Cooking odours filled the flat, tickling my nostrils and making my mouth water. Living alone, I was no kind of cook. Gladys Knott was quite obviously the exact opposite.

"Damn," I told her as I entered the kitchen. "That smells awesome."

She turned to me with a beaming smile. "Thank you, Michael. You look a lot better. The shower obviously agreed with you."

I nodded. "I do feel better. Even though I still feel like I've just been punched in the gut."

"I've been meaning to ask about that," she commented. "Why did it take Danny so long to come and pick you up? In the time I was waiting, I could have driven over there myself."

So then I told her about the Association and how they were going to see about getting the damage fixed. She listened carefully, and nodded when I was finished.

"Daniel Hebert is a good man," she informed me. "I've seen it in his daughter. And of course I recall Saturday night. I'm just glad they can help you in this way."

I sighed. "Me too. The tyres alone are gonna cost an arm and a leg. I'll take any help I can, right now." I turned to her. "And on that note, thank you for turning up here unexpectedly. I didn't think I needed the company, but now that you're here, I'm happy."

"That's all right, Michael." She opened the freezer compartment of my fridge, and withdrew a wine bottle that had been chilling there. "White wine?"

"Ah, I don't drink," I demurred. "Fruit juice or whatever for me. But you can drink if you want; I don't mind."

She nodded and poured herself a measure, then got juice out of the fridge and poured me some.

"Is there any reason that you don't drink?" she asked as she handed me the juice.

"What, like an alcoholic parent or something? No, no," I told her as I strolled over to the couch and sat down. "I never have gotten the habit, and even if I had done, ten years of watching people in every stage of drunkenness throw up on the pavement beside the cab would have knocked it out of me."

She sat down beside me, smoothing her skirt down as she did so. It was a very nice dress, with a subtle flower print.

"That's a rather good reason," she agreed, sipping at her wine. "I suppose that all my years of teaching have inured me against any real desire for children, in much the same way."

I laughed, and held up my glass in a mock toast. "Drinking and kids – they both lead to headaches," I pronounced.

She chuckled and clinked my glass with hers. "Amen," she agreed.

=/=

We sat for a while, already comfortable with one another, and getting more so. Gradually, she coaxed from me the details of what the junior gangsters had done to my pickup; at her urging, I got my phone out and showed her the pictures.

"So what did you do to deserve this?" she asked me, frowning.

I shrugged. "I might have beaten a couple of them up, just a little bit," I confessed.

"Michael Allen," she told me crisply, "that will not do. Kindly furnish me with the complete details."

So I told her what I'd done. The telling didn't take long, and by the end of it, she was looking at me quizzically.

"What?" I asked her defensively. "I screwed up, didn't I?"

"Only in the matter of bringing your personal vehicle to school," she stated. "As for the rest of it, you did well, as far as I can see. None of them were willing to confront you after you took down their best fighters; you had shown yourself to be a formidable figure, and yet one that acted as they would expect you to act. You claimed the school as your turf, and still gave them leave to fight away from it."

"So I basically settled the matter gang-style?" I asked. "I don't have much experience with gangs. I was just told once upon a time, that if I was confronted with a group, to pick the biggest guy and take him down hard."

She nodded. "That's sound advice. You did it with your bare hands, and in front of everyone. If there'd been any sort of hint of foul play, or if you'd shown any sign of weakness, they would likely have mobbed you."

"Lucky me," I replied dryly.

"Well, it will be a little while before they decide to fight in school again," she replied seriously. "But whoever did that – the ABB, by the looks – is likely to be set to force the issue; they've made you lose face by trashing your car."

"So, what you're saying is, watch my back?" I asked.

She nodded seriously. "Very carefully. Both gangs carry knives. Sometimes, guns."

"Great," I muttered. "Knives, I can handle. Guns, not so much."

"Which reminds me," she said, putting down her wine glass. "Let me see your arm."

I had wrapped a loose dressing around the healed cut when I left the shower; she unwrapped it and examined the red line carefully.

"That looks almost healed," she pronounced. "Funny, I wouldn't have thought it would come good this quickly."

"The miracle of modern medicine," I noted solemnly. "You'd make an excellent doctor."

"Oh well," she agreed, re-wrapping the dressing. "You're keeping it clean, at least. Good." Her smile showed she had registerd the compliment.

She looked up then, and sniffed at the air. "I think it's almost done," she told me. "Just give me five minutes, and we can eat."

I rose at the same time as she did. "I'll just check my online messages."

As she went into the kitchen and began to deal with the food, I booted up the laptop.

Almost as soon as the computer came online, an email message popped up. Once more, there was no name in the Sender field.

_What news?_

I thought for a moment, and typed a reply.

_All good. Plans going ahead. Hold tight._

Or at least I hoped that plans were going ahead; Armsmaster's absence on Sunday night had been unexpected, but if he were moving in on Saint …

Well, I could only hope.

I switched websites.

=/=

**Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.**

You are currently logged in, **mack0813**.

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You have (1) new message from **GstringGirl**.

You have (1) new message from **AllSeeingEye**.

You have no infractions and no warnings.

=/=

**GstringGirl *New Message*:** Mack, it's been more than a day. Im getting a little worried here. Are you all right? Plz reply.

**mack0183: **Hey, Svetlana. No, I'm all good. As if I'd leave my best girl. Just a little busy atm. Will be on later to chat. Tomorrow PM at latest. Promise.

**GstringGirl: **Oh its so good to hear from you. You're all right? Promise?

**mack0183: **Promise. Fighting fit and twice as ugly.

**GstringGirl: **I still have no idea what that means

**mack0183: **when you figure it out, let me know, okay? hugz

**GstringGirl: **ok mack. Youre so silly. hugs

**mack0183: **well I gotta get along, so I'll catch you later. Svetlana will escape, I promise!

**GstringGirl: **I'll hold you to that. Bye mack.

**mack0183: **Bye Svetlana.

=/=

I pulled up the private message that Tattletale had obviously left me, as AllSeeingEye, and chuckled out loud.

"What's so funny?" asked Gladys, busily pouring spaghetti into my colander.

"You ever had a situation where the kid thought they were being so smart, but you knew better, because you'd done all that yourself, and you knew exactly what their next move was?"

She paused, thinking, then nodded judiciously. "Yes, I believe I have, from time to time." She nodded toward the laptop. "Is that what's happening there?"

"Basically," I agreed, typing my reply. "We're having a really polite flamewar, and this person on the other end has no idea that I've effectively read their playbook. Not only do I hold all the cards, I can see theirs too."

"I don't know if that metaphor really holds," she mused.

I shrugged. "Oh well. The reaction to this should be interesting." I finished typing and sent off the post.

"Are you done there?' Gladys asked. "Because dinner is ready."

I smiled at her, and shut down the laptop. "Ready when you are."

=/=

_Lisa opened the private message, and read it through. Then she read it through a second time. That was when she started swearing._

"_Whoa, hold up," Brian told her. "Settle down a bit. What's the matter?"_

_She spun the laptop toward him. "Read it for yourself," she snarled. Sliding down to the far end of the sofa, she went into a magnificent sulk._

_Raising an eyebrow, Brian read the message._

* * *

_**All will be revealed in good time, my dear Sherlock. Kindly cease braiding thy nether garments into a knot.**_

_**Naughty, naughty. Hacking the PRT computers. Shame on you.**_

_**Note that some or all of that may not even happen; I am taking steps, but it will be a while before we can see if my efforts are bearing fruit.**_

_**We will talk again, and soon, and all will become much more clear.**_

_**Signed, The Smartest Guy in the Room.**_

_**PS: Tell Brian to make sure that Alec learns to keep his guard up. He can't depend on his powers all the time.**_

_**PPS: He must not know about this. Seriously. For your sake as well as mine.**_

_**PPPS: There is no PPPPS.**_

* * *

"'_He?'" enquired Brian. "Who is 'he'?"_

"_The boss," mumbled Lisa. "Second time he's warned us." She buried her face in a pillow. "But he's __**taunting**__ me! Deliberately! He's gotta know how much that burns my butt!"_

_Brian hid a smile. Lisa could be so irritatingly smug on occasion. As worrying as this information was, it was still amusing to see her get a dose of her own medicine. _

_And then one of the other lines in the message caught his eye. _

_"Wait a minute," he blurted. "How did he know I was sparring with Alec?"_

_Lisa shrugged, face still buried in the pillow. "I have no fucking idea."_

_"Are we under surveillance?" He looked around the room._

_"Not as far as I can tell," Lisa informed him, lifting her face from the pillow.._

_"So he just ... knew."_

_"And he didn't mind revealing that he knew. Like it's the least of the information that he has on us."_

_Brian was no longer amused. "Okay, officially creeped out now."_

_Lisa wasn't smiling either. "What, you didn't get that way when you read the bit about how he's 'taking steps' to stop Leviathan from hitting Brockton Bay?"_

_Brian hastily re-read the message._

_"Is he __**serious?**__" he asked, in a hushed tone._

_"Seems to be."_

_"Well, fuck."_

_"Yeah."_

_There was a moment of contemplative silence, before Brian spoke again._

_"Lisa?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"When we meet this guy again?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Let's be real polite."_

_"Yeah."_

_=/=_

I pushed my plate away and sighed with satisfaction. "Gladys," I told her, "that was a truly beautiful meal. You're a great cook. And I _know_ good cooking."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Franklin – my ex-husband used to criticise it all the time."

"I've never met the man," I pronounced, "and yet I can assure you, he didn't know when he was well off. My mother is a good cook. My sister is even better. And your cooking's at least on par with either one."

She gave me a genuine smile. "Thank you, Michael. I appreciate it."

We got up and rinsed the plates off, then put the cooking bowls in to soak.

"Have to do this right away, or I get ants something chronic," I explained. "The slightest scrap of food pulls them in from all over."

She nodded. "I have something of a similar problem, myself."

* * *

With the housekeeping duties seen to, or at least put aside for later, we went back to the couch. I located the remote, and we tried to find a good TV channel. However, it seemed that Monday night TV did not include anything that either of us liked. As it was, most of the shows were not ones I was familiar with – a different universe and a different country more or less saw to that – and not ones that Gladys liked.

So I got up reluctantly, while Gladys refilled her glass, and found a DVD of _An Officer and a Gentleman_. I put it on, and we settled down to watch.

"You know," she commented, "they made this movie the same year Scion appeared for the first time."

I knew. I had picked the movie because it was one of the few on the shelf that were familiar to me.

"Wow," I replied. "You're right."

I drank fruit juice, and she drank wine, and we watched the movie. Part way through, I put it on pause while we used the facilities, and refreshed our glasses.

Back on the couch, we seemed to naturally move together, until her head was leaning on my shoulder. She was warm and soft against me, and I had to tell myself to breathe normally.

"Michael," she informed me without looking away from the movie, "you are very tense. Lift your arm and put it around my shoulders; that way, we can both be comfortable."

Obediently, I lifted my arm and put it around her shoulders. She snuggled up to me, seeming even warmer and softer than before. My arm fell down along her side; she trapped it with her hand, and laced her fingers through mine.

I didn't feel tense any more. I felt rather good, in fact.

* * *

We watched the rest of the movie in comfort; as Richard Gere strode into the factory and carried Debra Winger out in his arms, I sighed.

"What is it?" Gladys asked without moving.

"I just want to do that for someone, sometime. Walk in to a place where they're just not happy, and carry them out of it. You know?"

She wriggled against me, getting more comfortable. I rather enjoyed the feeling. "Somehow, that does not surprise me about you, Michael." Lifting her glass to her lips, she drained the last of it, and then set it on the floor.

I tried to remember how much she had had over the evening.

"Are you going to be all right to drive?" I asked her.

"That depends," she replied, turning her face up to mine.

I frowned. "Depends on what, exactly?" I asked.

"On whether or not I go home tonight," she breathed, and pulled me in close for a kiss.

The wine on her lips tasted just fine to me.

=/=

_He stood in the middle of the office. She sat on her chair, leaning back casually, watching him. His hood was pushed back, the green glass helmet currently sitting on her desk._

_Not many people could pull off wearing a cape properly, especially when sitting down. She could. She observed him dispassionately as he just ... stood there._

_"It's been nearly an hour," she remarked. "Are you going to be doing this or not?"_

_He was irresolute. Afraid. He hadn't felt fear, real fear, in ... years. Decades._

_**This is the sort of fear that I need to boost my power levels, **__he told himself. But there was no such boost happening. He had wavered back and forth from the brink, from the point of no return, for fifty-one minutes by the office clock._

_"I have places to be," she prodded him gently._

_He took a deep breath. His thinning hair was matted with sweat; it stuck to his forehead. He had to do __**something**__; either give it up altogether, or go for broke._

_"David ..." she began._

_"Shh!" he snapped. And with a convulsive effort, he made the leap of faith. He cast away his powers. Gone was the invulnerability, the flight; powers he had assumed so often that they felt like a second skin. For the first time in a __**very**__ long time, he was powerless. There was nothing between himself and the rest of the world._

_Immediately, instinctively, he felt himself searching for new powers. He made the effort to seek mental powers of the type that had been described to him. Thinker powers. Sensory powers. Very specialised sensory powers._

_He could see all frequencies in the electromagnetic spectrum, and knew he could focus and amplify any particular band to lethal levels. He cast that power aside. _

_He could detect the very life-force that animated those in the building around him, and he knew he could draw on that life force to heal himself or others. This was closer to what he wanted, but he cast that aside too._

_More powers swam into his consciousness, but they were not what he wanted. He discarded one after the other._

_And then one clicked into place, and he knew it was the right one. The woman before him blazed with power, and he knew what she could do, knew her capabilities. Other sparks of power throughout the building and beyond were evident to him._

_He clung to that power, and cast out for the other one. He'd had his doubts, before, but now he had none. With his new power to aid him, he seized upon one and then another, sorting through them at what would have been eye-blurring speed, had he been using his eyes._

_And he found it. The last piece of the puzzle. It clicked into place, and he let it merge with his being. And then he activated it, and drew upon the power, all around him._

_"It's back," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "It's all back."_

_Alexandria looked at Eidolon, hovering six inches above the floor, skin almost incandescent with the sheer intensity of the power he was drawing into himself, and smiled._

_"Yes," she agreed. "I can tell."_

* * *

End of Part Twelve


	13. Chapter 13

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Crises

* * *

Gladys finished in the shower just as I was pulling my boots on. I looked up as she entered the living room, wearing my bathrobe, still towelling her hair.

I gave her a smile; she returned it. Waking up next to her, jolted from sleep by the alarm clock, had been somewhat of a shock, at least until my brain rebooted and memory kicked in. But _what_ memories. And the shock had not been at all unpleasant, merely unexpected.

"So, no hangover?" I asked teasingly.

She shook her head, still smiling. "No hangover, Michael. I did not drink _that_ much wine, last night."

"Really?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Really," she confirmed, leaning down and kissing me gently. I put my arms around her and kissed her back, and somehow, not entirely by accident, she ended up on my lap.

Her arms felt nice around my neck, her lips were warm and soft on mine, and her damp hair smelled faintly of something floral. Having Gladys in one's arms, post-shower, was a treat to be enjoyed.

I nuzzled her neck, and she breathed in deeply, caressing the back of my head. Had I hair of any length, she would have doubtless run her fingers through it, but instead she had to content herself with gliding her fingertips over the stubble on my scalp.

I had one hand inside the robe when she finally sighed and said regretfully, "Michael, we really should be going."

I nuzzled her neck some more, but withdrew my hand. "We could both call in sick," I suggested, not entirely meaning it.

"As tempting as the idea is, Michael," she responded, "we both know we're not going to. I can see you watching the clock." She snorted. "And besides, in that damned stab vest of yours, you're about as cuddly as a forty-four gallon drum."

I tugged teasingly on the belt that held the robe closed, but my heart wasn't in it. Besides, she was right; I _was_ watching the clock, and while playtime was fun, work time was approaching fast.

"Okay," I agreed, kissed her one more time, and let her stand up. "If we must."

"You know very well that we must, Michael," she told me, but the soft tone belied the words. She gathered her clothes and entered the bedroom to dress, while I busied myself ensuring that my equipment belt held all the gear that I needed.

"We need to talk, Michael," she told me as she emerged from the bedroom.

"I know," I agreed, with a nod. "If you want, I can ride with you to your place, and we can bus it from there. We can talk on the way."

She looked slightly taken aback by my readiness to meet her halfway. "If you're sure ...?" she asked.

"Sure I'm sure," I told her. "You want to talk, I want to talk, we can talk."

"Oh," she replied. "I ... thank you." She glanced at the clock. "We had better move along, though." Picking up her handbag, she headed for the door.

"Uh, what about your wine?" I asked. "There's still most of the bottle in the fridge."

She gave me a heavy-lidded smile; it put a tingle in my spine that went all the way to my toes. "Oh, I think we'll leave that here for the time being."

I couldn't think of a single reason to disagree.

=/=/=

Once we were in her little car, and on the way to her house, she broached the subject that I had known was coming.

"Michael," she began, "we need to talk about us."

"So let's talk," I agreed. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"

She glanced at me, as if to check that I was not making fun of her. I looked back at her, lifting my eyebrows slightly in encouragement.

"You're a good man," she told me firmly. "You're a gentleman, and you're a _gentle_ man. But you're tough when you need to be tough; you don't shy away from what needs to be done." A pause, as she took a deep breath. "I like you, a lot. But I don't _love_ you. It's too soon to tell for that."

"That's fair," I allowed. "You're sweet and caring, and I like you too. A lot. But you're right. We met for the first time four days ago. We barely _know_ each other."

"Yes, yes," she agreed, nodding her head vigorously. "Exactly. And ..." She looked at me sideways. "No offence, Michael, but I'm not looking for another husband. Or even a long-term boyfriend."

"None taken, Gladys," I replied. "I feel the same way. I've got my life lined up the way I like it, and marriage is not on the agenda. Likewise, full-on relationships."

_Besides,_ I told myself, _who knows where I'll be in another month. If I even survive that long._

"Precisely," she responded. "Nor, I believe, should we be considering any such foolishness as moving in with one another."

"No argument from me." I shrugged. "You've got your place, I've got mine."

She smiled warmly. "We understand one another, then."

I nodded. "Sounds like it. But then there's the other thing."

She glanced at me warily. "Which is ...?"

"I had a really good time last night," I told her bluntly. "I'm hoping you did too."

She coloured slightly as she nodded. "Yes, of course, Michael."

"And I'd like to do it some more, sometime. If that's okay. See you again. It doesn't have to be ... you know ... bedroom stuff. Just ... seeing you. Being with you. Being friends ..." My voice trailed off.

"Who occasionally sleep together," she filled in.

"Only if you're good with that," I hastened to add.

"It _would_ be nice to have someone to hold, once in a while," she allowed, almost wistfully. "There were _some_ things about being married that I do miss from time to time. But I don't have the time for a committed relationship," she went on in a warning tone. "We'll only be able to see each other now and again."

"Yeah, you said, not a long-term boyfriend-girlfriend thing." I paused. "Is there a term for this? Just … friends who have sex occasionally? Sort of an exclusive friends with benefits thing?"

"Consenting adults," she stated firmly.

I nodded. "That works for me."

"As it is," she went on, "there's class work I'll need to go over, projects to grade. I probably won't be free till Friday night, and possibly not even then."

"I'm good with that," I assured her. "And I might be busy Friday, but I should be free Saturday."

"I can work with that," she agreed. "And one other thing. We don't do anything that might tip them off at Winslow. The rumour mill in that place is insane. Kiss me before first period, and by lunchtime it'll be around the school that I'm scouting abortion clinics."

"Roger that," I agreed. "Public displays of affection, a no go."

She put her hand on my arm briefly. "Thank you, Michael," she said quietly. "I do appreciate this, how understanding you are being. It means a lot to me."

I could definitely follow her reasoning for keeping things quiet. We didn't need people speculating over what a purported relationship between us would mean to the school. In addition, Taylor was in Gladys' home room class, or would be until she transferred to Arcadia. It would not be beyond the realms of possibility for someone to manufacture a connection between myself, Taylor and Gladys, and for people to start making entirely unwarranted suppositions.

Besides, I told myself, Gladys would be much safer if no-one knew we were involved, once word got out about me. I wasn't stupid enough to believe that I could keep my involvement in wider affairs secret forever.

Which in turn made me wonder if I was doing Gladys a great disservice. Heck, _Taylor_ knew more than she did about things that were going on around town. _Should I tell her?_ I asked myself. _Would it help if she knew when to run if the wrong people came looking for me? Or would knowing just put her in more danger?_

I didn't even spare a thought for the possibility of Gladys Knott betraying me.

But even without that factor, the more I thought about it, the more conflicted I became.

I didn't know what I was going to do, or what the right thing to do even _was_.

=/=/=

We stopped at Gladys' house, and she quickly changed clothes; I personally could not tell the difference, but she was adamant that this needed to be done.

Just before we left the house, I stopped her with a hand on her arm, wanting to take advantage of our last possible chance of a private moment.

She looked at me, puzzled.

"I just wanted to say ... thank you," I said softly, and kissed her gently, trying not to mess up her lipstick. "For coming over and cooking. It really helped."

Her smile was quick and warm. "You're welcome, Michael. Now, we must hurry, if we are to catch the bus."

I hurried, puffing; we made it to the stop with thirty seconds to spare.

=/=/=

The bus was a different line to the one I had ridden in on Friday, so there was more Brockton Bay scenery to watch. There weren't any seats where we could sit side by side, but that was probably a good thing; a symbolic separation to ready us for the day that we would spend together-but-apart. We would very likely be seeing one another, but we would be unable to acknowledge that there was anything between us.

The bus pulled up at Winslow, and we got off; this was a slightly earlier one than I usually took, and so as we walked across the car park – keeping a casual distance between us – I saw other teachers and staff arriving as well. A few people looked at me oddly; I usually didn't turn up this early. No-one commented, but I made a mental note; no more riding in together. The chance of discovery was far too great.

Blackwell, more than most, seemed to be mildly taken aback by my earlier-than-normal appearance, but she took it in stride, and unlocked the front doors for the staff.

"Good morning, Mr Allen," she greeted me, her voice almost friendly.

"Good morning, Principal Blackwell," I replied.

"I received a phone call from Alan Barnes last night," she went on, after the teachers had streamed past us; she was waiting to re-lock the doors.

"Okay," I responded cautiously. Had he decided to ignore what had happened, to renege on the deal?

She cracked the faintest of smiles. "He has undertaken to leave school discipline to the school," she revealed. "There will be no more attempts to mitigate the punishment that his daughter is undergoing."

"That's good news," I observed, with an answering smile.

She nodded. "Now," she said, looking directly at me, "do I get to hear the recording of the interview that led to this about-face?"

"I'm sorry," I told her, "but in order to listen to that recording, you will have to get permission from both Alan and Emma Barnes."

Her expression slowly petrified. "Surely you jest," she stated flatly.

I shook my head. "That conversation was private, between the three of us, and I only recorded it so that none of the three of us could claim false content to the conversation; so that they, for instance, could not claim blackmail at a later date."

Her lips thinned; she turned to lock the doors, then started walking down the hallway, her stride quick and staccato. I had to quicken my pace to keep up. "And so you are saying that you, a security guard who has quickly earned a reputation for recording _everything_, did not secretly record this exchange with your secondary recorder?" _A recording that you don't have to account for,_ I knew she meant.

"I'm saying exactly that, yes, Ms Blackwell," I confirmed. "That recording was of a private conversation, and it will remain private until both Alan and Emma Barnes give their specific approval for me to release it to you."

She didn't reply; didn't give any sort of answer at all until we had reached her office and she had signed out the master-keys to me. "Very well, Mr Allen," she told me curtly. "That will be all. Go about your duties."

I left, ruminating that it could never be easy. _Two steps forward, one step back._

And I _still_ had not decided which way I was going to jump with Gladys.

=/=/=

_The night had passed, and morning had come on, and Eidolon still had not slept. He did not feel that he needed sleep; he was energised, supercharged._

_With the new range of power that he had attained, he found he could easily pull any power from the melange surrounding him, at will and at need. He had also discovered that the first power he had encountered, the one that had helped him find the second one, was immaterial to his needs. He put it from him, then took it back, then cast it away again. It was there if he needed it, but he didn't need it._

_Even now that he was limited to two agents for active powers, he found his range and breadth of selections to be stunning. A teleport power that allowed him to step around the world in a matter of seconds, and to bombard hypothetical foes with bubbles of intersecting space-time. A constantly-changing field/shield that drew in energy and allowed him to output it in whatever form he chose. Telekinesis, sheer and simple and hugely powerful. __**Any**__ powerset he took on was hugely powerful, now._

_He did not miss the parallels with the Endbringers; he was reminded of Michael Allen's words, that he needed to seek therapy, to make peace with himself. He did not need it, he told himself. He was __**at**__ peace. His power had returned, in all its glory. Once more, Eidolon was the shining star of the Triumvirate. He had no more need for violent combat, to push himself to the next level of power._

_What he __**did**__ crave, now, was someone, something, upon which to test his newly-returned capabilities. He wanted to hit something, smash it with his powers, something that would previously have been beyond his capabilities. He wanted to prove himself, prove __**to**__ himself that he was once more a power to be truly reckoned with._

_He was in his element now. There was nothing he could not handle._

_He reminded himself to thank Allen personally, sometime._

=/=/=

I stood on the front steps of the school; it was my responsibility to see the girls under in-school suspension to the classroom where they would spend the balance of the day.

With me stood Julia, looking faintly resentful, and Madison, looking rather subdued. And then a familiar car rolled to a halt, and Alan Barnes emerged; Emma got out on the other side.

I had gotten a certain amount of warning from Blackwell's comment, but I still wasn't fully prepared for Emma's appearance.

In terms of clothing and presentation, she was as gorgeous as ever; Emma Barnes was one of those people who could take any look and effortlessly make it hers. But there was something different in the girl herself, something that was missing. She seemed ... diminished. Instead of striding out, parting the crowd with her presence, she followed behind her father, up the steps toward where I stood.

"Mr Allen," he greeted me; not friendly, but not hostile either. I had torn the band-aid off and exposed his daughter's true actions, and those of Sophia Hess, to him. The revelation could not have been pleasant, and the fallout even less so, for him or his daughter. As the architect of this unpleasantness, I was not his enemy, but I doubted that I had made his Christmas card list.

"Mr Barnes," I replied, equally distant.

"Has Taylor arrived yet?" he asked.

"Not that I've seen," I told him. "Why?"

"Because Emma has something to say to her," he told me.

I frowned, considering this. "Given the little stunt that Emma pulled yesterday ..." I began.

"This will be a face to face exchange that you can monitor," he said quickly. "It's something that Emma needs to do."

"I suppose so," I agreed with a nod. "I'll see what we can do."

At that moment, I spotted Taylor working her way through the crowd, having just gotten off the bus. I took my sunglasses off and looked her way until she made eye contact, then I hooked my head in a come-here gesture.

As I slid the shades back into place, she began to move our way.

There was a bubble of empty space around myself, Alan Barnes and the girls; as she impinged on this no-man's-land, she hesitated.

"Come on over, Taylor," I invited her. "Alan says Emma's got something to say to you."

Taylor shot me a curious look, but approached more closely anyway.

"I'm not sure that she's got anything to say that I want to hear," she observed, addressing me, but looking at Emma. Her eyebrows rose as she noted Emma's less than confident demeanour.

"Well, you –" began Julia, but she shut up when I looked at her and raised a finger.

"Shush," I told her. "You weren't the one who asked to speak to Taylor." I paused, looking at Alan Barnes' daughter. "Emma?"

"Just so you know," Alan put in hastily as Emma raised her head to look at Taylor, "we still admit no legal liability as applies to any specific incidents that may have happened at Winslow."

_Typical lawyer_, I thought, _covering his arse to the end._

"Taylor," Emma said softly, "yesterday, Mr Allen spoke to me and Dad. About stuff that's been going on. About Sophia and me. And last night, Dad and Mom had a long talk to me about that, and about other stuff."

I saw now that, under expertly-applied makeup, her eyes were red-rimmed. Had she been crying?

"And so...?" Taylor responded.

Emma bit her lip. "I know it's not enough, but for what's been done to you, for what _I've_ done to you –"

"Emma ..." Alan interjected warningly. She was obviously going off script here, admitting fault.

"No, Dad," Emma went on. "I've got to say it. For what I've done, for what Sophia did because I told her to, I'm sorry."

Taylor looked at her for a long moment. "You're right," she told Emma. "It's not enough. It'll never be enough. But I'm glad you've had the guts to come out and admit it, to say sorry."

She looked at Alan Barnes. "Don't worry, I'm not going to sue. I'd tell Dad to do just that, if I thought it would do the slightest bit of good. But it wouldn't. It wouldn't change what's already happened. It would just be hurting you to make me feel better about myself, and isn't that exactly what Emma was doing to me?" She looked directly at Emma. "I refuse to be like you. Ever."

Without another word, she nodded to me, then turned and headed inside, leaving the five of us standing there.

Alan Barnes turned to me. "Did you record -?" he began.

"Don't worry," I reassured him in a low tone. "It just so happens that I accidentally switched the recorder off, just before Emma started speaking." I held up the digital recorder so that just he and Emma could see it, its red LED dark. "That, what Emma just said? It's what she needed to say, what Taylor needed to hear. I wouldn't sabotage something like that. But make sure you get her therapy."

Deliberately, I switched the recorder back on, and placed it back in its pouch.

"Thank you," Emma's father told me. "And I will. I mean it."

I nodded. "You've got a lot to make up for, but it's a start. Now, if you don't mind, I need to get these girls in to their appropriate classroom."

"Right, right," he agreed. "I'll see you later, Emma."

She murmured a response, and watched him walk down the steps.

=/=/=

_Lisa's grin was at its most vulpine as she typed up and sent in the post. __**Troll **__**me**__, __**will you,**__ she asked silently. __**Let's see who trolls whom.**__ She couldn't help it; she let out a chuckle._

_Brian paused the video game he was playing and turned to regard her quizzically._

_"That was a really evil chuckle. Do I really want to know?" he asked._

_She grinned over at him. "Just teaching someone that payback's a bitch."_

_Brian nodded wisely. "So, no."_

_He unpaused the game and kept playing. Someone, he decided, was in for a bad time. __**Just so long as it isn't me.**_

=/=/=

No-one spoke as I led the girls to their classroom.

"Same deal as yesterday," I announced as they took their seats. "When I leave here, I'll be taking your phones and anything else that might be used for electronic entertainment. Electronics go on the desk; phones will be turned off and delivered to the principal, and retrieved at the end of the day. You can talk, read or do homework. Questions?"

Madison raised her hand slightly. "Uh, yes," she ventured. "What did you say to Emma yesterday? I tried to talk to her on the phone, but she's being all weird about it."

Emma shot her a look, then another one at me. I could see the appeal in her eyes. _Please don't tell her._

"That's between me, Emma and her dad," I told Madison firmly. "You can ask Emma if you want, but you'll have to be satisfied with whatever she tells you. I'm not weighing in on this one."

Madison promptly turned to Emma. "Okay, Ems," she told the redhead. "Spill. Seriously, what's the deal?"

"There _is_ no deal," Emma replied in a low voice. "I meant what I said. Dad knows everything, and he's pissed. What we did to Taylor ..." Her voice trailed off.

"But that thing she said to you," protested Madison. "About not wanting to be like you. She can't say that –"

Emma shook her head slowly. "What she said to me, I deserved. Every word and more." She lowered her eyes. "Can we just drop this?"

"But Sophia –" began Madison.

"Sophia's a psychotic manipulative bitch, and she turned me into one, too!" shouted Emma, making Madison and Julia jump. "Right now, she's up for attempted murder! Do you really want to emulate that? For _fuck's_ sake!"

She had risen to her feet during her tirade; I cleared my throat gently. "If you will kindly sit down, Ms Barnes," I suggested. "And while I have no issue with anything you've said, moderating your tone might be a good idea."

Emma nodded convulsively, grabbed her bag, and moved down to the back of the classroom to sit as far away from Madison and Julia as she could. She didn't say any more; the other two shared startled looks, but refrained from comment.

=/=/=

_Taylor sat in her home room class and watched as Mrs Knott went to the front of the room. There was something different about the teacher today; she was dressed much the same as normal, but there was a spring in her step, and a glow to her face, that Taylor had not seen before._

_**She's happy, **__Taylor realised, almost at once. __**Something happened, and she's happy.**__ She wondered what that something might be, and almost immediately, her thoughts lit on Michael Allen. __**He brought her along on Saturday night.**_

_At the time, she had thought little of it, being preoccupied with her own secrets, and later it still had not seemed so strange; Mike worked at the school and so did Mrs Knott. It was weird to think of Mrs Knott having a life outside the school, or of Mike engaged in anything but the dealings he had described on Sunday night and lunchtime Monday, putting plans in motion to save the world._

_She supposed that he deserved some sort of life, some sort of happiness, and so did Mrs Knott. And if they happened to find it together, then so much the better._

_Her computer finally finished booting up, and she logged on to the PHO forums to see if there was anything new on the site. Lung's capture had shown up on Monday morning, described as the work of "a new independent cape called Weaver". No more details had been given about her, then._

_Now, she idly checked up the name, and to her surprise, someone had added it to the wiki. There were no pictures as yet, but her powers were described as 'insect and arachnid control', with a tentative rating of Master 4. Notes underneath indicated that she had been instrumental in the capture and incarceration of Lung. Her allegiance had been described as 'Hero', with the additional note that she had cooperated fully with the PRT and Protectorate forces who arrived to take Lung in hand. Right at the bottom was a note that she was currently working with another cape called Security._

_Curious, she checked the name 'Security', and to her astonishment, got a hit there too. No physical description or picture was given, but he was considered to be a high-end Thinker type. The sole comment attached to the page suggested that Security was working with the PRT on matters pertaining to the safety of the city._

_Whether this was true or not - and she could not be sure either way - it would mean that people would start paying attention, and digging to see if they could get more information on him. And that could be bad._

_**I really have to tell Mike about this, **__she decided._

=/=/=

The bell went for first period, and shortly thereafter, there came a knock on the door. I turned that way, in time to see Mr Gladly enter the room. I realised that I had totally forgotten his first name from when we had been introduced on Friday. It didn't really bother me; I didn't have much of an opinion of the man.

"I'm here to take them for first period," he announced unnecessarily.

"Excellent," I replied, standing up from the desk. "I'll just take the phones to the principal's office."

"I'll take care of them," Gladly interjected.

"No, I'll be doing this," I countered. "The phones are to be confiscated for the day and taken to the principal's office."

"I can just hold them," Gladly insisted.

I shook my head. "Sorry. I was told to get them there. That's what I'll be doing." I held out my hand toward Madison and Julia. "Phones, girls."

Madison obediently placed her phone in my hand; Julia held off. "Mr G –" she began.

" - doesn't have a say in this," I interrupted. "I'm taking your phone to the office."

Julia set her jaw and looked stubborn. "Mr G's a teacher. You're just a fat old rent-a-cop. If Principal Blackwell wants my phone, she can come here and get it."

Which, we both knew, would cause me to lose a certain amount of face. I wasn't going to go there if I could help it.

"I'll be back in a moment," I advised her. "In the meantime, you might want to think about whether you really want to go there."

I strolled on down to Emma's desk; when I got there, she already had her phone out, ready to hand over. I took it with a nod.

As I was heading toward the front of the room again, Mr Gladly stepped into my way. "You can give me those phones now," he told me, holding out his hand. I noticed that he was already holding Julia's phone in his other hand.

"I could," I agreed, "but I won't. These phones are going to the office, as is that one." I nodded toward the one in his hand.

"That was an order," he insisted. "Give me those phones, right now."

I pulled a pair of reading glasses from a pouch on my belt, put them on, and made a show of peering at Gladly through them. "Nope," I replied. "You're still not Principal Blackwell."

He flushed angrily. "You're a school employee, and I'm faculty," he protested. "You have to do what I say."

"I'm employed by the school board," I told him bluntly, putting the glasses away. "Principal Blackwell can give me reasonable orders, and I will carry them out. Anyone else can _ask_ me to do something, but I have no obligation to obey. So. Please hand that phone over, so I can carry out my orders."

"Or what?" he asked. "You gonna break my arm? Taser me? Punch me out?"

"Worse," I warned him. "I will turn over the recording of _this_ conversation to the Principal. You've already got one disciplinary hearing coming up; do you think they'll schedule another one for attempting to subvert the orders of Principal Blackwell, or will they just lump this one on top of the other one?"

"Yeah, right," he retorted. "I know where you keep your recorders I've been watching your hands. You haven't had a chance to turn them on since I got here. So you got jack."

Not taking my eyes off of him, I raised my voice slightly. "Emma?" I called out.

"Yes, Mr Allen?" she replied immediately, sounding startled to be called on.

"What's the last thing I did before we came inside the school?"

She paused, then spoke clearly. "You turned on your recorder, and put it on your belt."

I smiled. "Thank you, Emma."

With two fingers, I lifted the recorder from the pouch, and showed him the glaring red LED.

"Satisfied?" I asked him quietly, putting it away again. His face began to take on a sour expression; he didn't answer, but when I held out my hand, he reluctantly placed the phone in it.

"Thank you," I quoted softly, "for your cooperation." He didn't get the reference; I doubted that movie was out in Earth Bet, or that it would be anywhere near as popular as it had been back home.

I turned away; I was almost at the door when Gladly spoke up.

"Hey," he said. "Did you leave any more of those damn recorders in this room?"

I glanced back at him. "Mayyybe," I answered coyly, drawing the word out. "If you find one, I'll want it back.'

Exiting, I closed the door. _That should keep them busy for a while, _I thought with mild amusement.

=/=/=

_Taylor had left a fly on the back of Mike's belt, so she knew where he was at all times. It was a trick he'd suggested to her. Unfortunately, it wasn't doing her much good at the moment._

_During home room, he was in the classroom with Madison, Emma and Julia; she could think of no way to get a message to him without the girls seeing something strange._

_When the first period bell went, Mr Gladly went into that classroom, and appeared to have some sort of argument or discussion with Mike; the bugs she had in the area couldn't pick up enough clues to give her a better idea. _

_In the meantime, she was heading to Mr Quinlan's math class for first period. Even if she went to Mike's classroom and waited outside the door, there was a chance she'd be late for math class before he came out. She gritted her teeth and hurried on. __**Come **__**on**__, she told Mike silently, __**Get **__**out**__** of there.**_

_She thought hard, while heading to Quinlan's classroom. Mike had given her many good suggestions for the use of her power on Sunday night, and she had practised quite a few of them. How to get a message to him? Write it on a scrap of paper and have a bug carry it to him?_

_He finally left the classroom, and she realised the simplest way to do it. She began to gather a swarm …_

=/=/=

I was on my way to Blackwell's office, with the phones, when a swarm of bugs swept past me and settled on a nearby wall. I stared for a moment, then understood as the bugs began to form letters.

SECURITY IS ON PHO WIKI

_Oh shit._

Bugs settled on my head, and I nodded vigorously, so that she would know I had gotten the message. Then I pulled out my smartphone.

I had to put on my reading glasses again to see the screen properly, but I managed to navigate through to internet access, and thus to the Parahumans Online boards.

_I wouldn't be able to do this at Arcadia, _I mused. _Faraday cages around the building, huh._

It didn't take me long to find the writeup for Security, and it did not make me happy at all. Nor did it take me long to figure out who had done it.

=/=/=

_Lisa's laptop pinged, and she saw that there was a private message waiting for her._

* * *

**mack0813 *New Message*:** V funny. Pls take it down.

**AllSeeingEye:** Take what down?

**mack0813:** Security wiki entry. Srsly, if wrong ppl read that, I will be in shit.

* * *

_**Wrong people?**__ Lisa pondered. And then her power filled her in on who the 'wrong people' would include._

_**Oh shit.**_

_She hastily typed a reply, then set to work._

* * *

**AllSeeingEye:** Shit, sorry. Didn't realise was so serious. Removing comment. Can't remove wiki page.

* * *

=/=/=

I sighed. _Of course you can't._

* * *

**mack0813:** Kk. See what I can do.

* * *

I pulled up my email account. Flicking through the inbox, I found Dragon's latest email.

_I hope this works._

Clicking on Reply, I typed up a quick message, my fingers clumsy on the tiny touch-keys.

* * *

**Pls remove Security wiki page. Placed up w/out permission.**

* * *

Less than ten seconds later, a reply pinged in my inbox.

* * *

**Page removed.**

* * *

=/=/=

_Lisa stared. She had just removed her comment from the wiki page, and suddenly the page began deconstructing itself. She back-clicked to the Weaver page, and watched the line about Weaver's alliance with Security simply vanish, as if it had never been._

* * *

**AllSeeingEye:** Holy shit. How did you do that? Do you have an in with the mods?

* * *

_A moment or two passed, then the answer popped up._

* * *

**mack0813:** Tell u later. In meantime, pls do not do that again.

**AllSeeingEye:** … all right.

**mack0813:** Thx.

**mack0813 **has left private chat.

* * *

=/=/=

_Thomas Calvert frowned. His system was set up to forward him an alert every time a Thinker was registered on the PHO wiki for Brockton Bay and the surrounding area. His plans to acquire Dinah Alcott were moving ahead smoothly, but one could never have too many irons in the fire._

_But now a page had registered about a cape called Security. He'd heard the name in passing, in the PRT building, but it had not caught his attention. However, it seemed that this Security was a high-powered Thinker. He was interested. _

_Opening a new page, he did a quick search for any hits on a cape called "Security". There were none._

_**Interesting. Either very new, very obscure, or very good at hiding his tracks.**_

_Either way, he was interested in seeing what this Security was all about._

_He clicked back to the wiki page … and stared._

_It wasn't there any more._

_Between one mouse-click and the next … it was gone. As if it had never existed._

_A quick site search of the name Security only netted uses of the word in lower case._

_Some people would have doubted that they'd ever seen the page; Calvert did not. He knew what he had seen. There had been a wiki page for a high-powered Thinker, and that wiki page had mysteriously vanished._

_**Evidently**__,_ _he thought,_ _**this Security removed the wiki page to cover his tracks. That's **__**very**__** impressive.**_

_He checked again – it was still gone, so not a simple glitch – and then called up his email program._

=/=/=

_Lisa looked up as her laptop pinged for a new email. She opened it._

* * *

**Tattletale:**

**Please investigate all references to a Thinker in Brockton Bay called Security. I want chapter and verse, soonest.**

**C**

* * *

_She stared at the screen, only now realising the enormity of her screwup._

_**What the fuck do I do **__**now**__**?**_

=/=/=

I put my reading glasses and smartphone away – crisis hopefully averted – and headed on, to Blackwell's office. She was on the phone, and looked up as I tapped on the door.

"Just dropping off the phones from the girls in suspension," I told her. She gestured toward her desk, so I placed them on her desk and gave her a polite nod; she nodded back. I closed the door on the way out.

=/=/=

_Lisa's phone rang, and she glanced at the number display._

_"I'll take this in my room," she decided, getting up from the sofa._

_Brian and Alec, who were working through another sparring session, barely took any notice._

_She made it to her room and answered the call._

_"Yes, boss?"_

_**"Tattletale." **__It was Coil, of course.__** "What progress have you made with the request I just sent you**__?"_

_"Not much yet," Lisa hastily improvised. "I checked the wiki first, of course. There's nothing at all there. Do you have any idea where this guy's from?"_

_**"That's what I'm paying you to find out,"**__ he told her reprovingly. __**"I need you to keep on that, find out his weak points, any leverage I can use on him. Failing that, find out if he's for hire."**_

_"I'm on it," she lied. "Anything else?"_

_**"Yes, actually," **__he replied. __**"I need the Undersiders to commit a crime for me."**_

_"But not just any crime," she responded. "A specific type of crime, at a particular time and place."_

_**"As perceptive as ever," **__he praised her. __** "It needs to be flashy, attention-getting. It needs to happen in the downtown area, and it needs to go off just around lunchtime on Thursday."**_

_"This sounds to me like a diversion of some sort," she commented._

_**"You don't need to know about that side of matters," **__he reproved her. __**"Now, can you do it, or not?"**_

_"Oh, we can do it," she assured him. "That won't be a problem." She paused. "But do you want me to focus more on this job or Security?"_

_**"The job, for the moment," **__he decided. __**"But as soon as you have a spare moment, I'll need you to get back on to Security for me."**_

_"I can do that, boss," she told him, with a note of cheer that she wasn't feeling. "So, the job."_

_**"The job, yes," **__he replied. __**"Do you have any ideas about it yet?"**_

_"Actually, yes," she said promptly. "How about the Brockton Bay Central Bank?"_

_**"Ambitious," **__he commented approvingly. __**"That will certainly be flashy enough. Do you think the Undersiders are up to it?"**_

_"Sure," she responded. "They might not like the attention it'll gain us though, so you might want to sweeten the pot a little. Extras. Incentives."_

_He sighed.** "I can tell you have something in mind. Let's hear it."**_

_"Well," she began brightly, "I'm guessing the money isn't the point here. So if you were to offer ..."_

=/=/=

I met Taylor on the front steps at lunchtime. She sat on the steps, while I used the folding chair.

"We're all clear?" I asked her.

"Sure," she stated. "I've got bugs on nearly everyone now. Keeping an eye on where they all are." An anxious look my way. "That's okay, isn't it?"

I nodded. "It's good practice. So long as you don't intrude into their privacy too much, I guess. Just be careful, all right?"

"Oh, I am, I am. So how did it turn out with the wiki page?"

I smiled slightly. "Thanks to you, it's no longer up. I appreciate the heads-up, by the way. You may just have saved my life."

"What, really?" she asked. "How did you get it taken down? And who would have threatened your life?"

"To answer the first part of your question, I asked a favour from a friend," I responded. "I'll introduce you sometime. She's fairly cool. As for the second part, I have the goods on nearly every prominent villain and hero in the city. Once that gets out, what will my life be worth?"

She was staring at me, wide-eyed. "Holy shit," she breathed. "I didn't think of it like that."

I nodded. "I can't let myself forget," I observed. "But on to a less morbid topic. What Emma said to you today. How do you feel about that?"

She took a deep breath. "I ... guess, I've needed to hear it, to be sure that all that shit's over and done. But what she said ..." She looked at me. "It was you, wasn't it? You said something to her, to her dad, that made him make her say that."

I raised my eyes to the cloudy sky. "I may have had _something_ to do with it," I admitted. I looked back down toward her. "But I just showed him what she was really like, what Sophia was really like. What she said to you, that was all them."

"I get it, I do," she agreed. "But ... seriously, I've basically figured that Emma was doing it as an ego thing, but I have no real idea _why_. I mean, what turned her against me like that?"

I nodded. "I figure you deserve to know. I can tell you, but doing that basically involves breaking the law."

She stared at me. "I don't get it. Is Emma so important?"

I shook my head. "Emma's only contingent to this. It's something about Sophia that I cannot legally tell you." I paused. I was dangling the truth in front of her. She was a smart kid.

"Something about Sophia – Sophia's a _cape?"_ she exclaimed.

"A little louder next time; I don't think they heard you in Boston," I cautioned.

"Sorry, sorry." She paused. "Who … wait a moment."

I waited, sucking on my juice popper.

"Shadow Stalker?" she blurted. "Sophia Hess is _Shadow Stalker?"_

"What makes you think that?" I asked casually.

"Well, she's obviously not New Wave," Taylor reasoned, waving a piece of pita bread. "You mentioned legality, so this sounds like a member of the Wards. And the Wards only have two female members, and Vista's too young."

"And she's Caucasian," I added helpfully.

"Yeah, that," Taylor agreed. "So … Shadow Stalker. Huh."

I nodded. "Well, now that you've figured this out, what are your thoughts on the matter?"

She looked at me, puzzled. "On what matter?"

"Weaver joining the Wards, for one thing," I pointed out.

She paused. "Oh. Oh yeah."

"Let me lay it out for you," I said helpfully. "The Protectorate _did not know_ that Sophia was bullying you. However, their oversight procedures were lax enough that she was able to get away with it. Note that she isn't overly well-liked by her teammates anyway. Clockblocker thinks she's hot, even though he doesn't like her very much as a person."

Taylor said nothing.

"It's basically getting her powers that screwed her up," I went on. "She became a lot more aggressive than before. A lot nastier. She subscribes to a kind of predator-prey mindset. What she really likes is an absence of rules, so she can do what she wants. Which, quite a lot of the time, is hurting people."

"I can see that," Taylor replied softly. "I can really see that."

I nodded. "Now, as for Emma. Back before all this began, while you were still at nature camp, the last time you spoke to her on the phone, Emma and her father were attacked by some ABB thugs. They were going to do something fairly brutal to Emma. Shadow Stalker was there, but she didn't do anything until Emma actually fought back. It's her thing, you see; if you don't fight back, you don't deserve to be saved. Predator versus prey."

Taylor could have been a stone statue; only her eyes on me reflected the fact that she was listening.

"She saved them, but Emma was extremely traumatised, as you can imagine. She spent a week where she didn't come out of her room at all. Then she went back to the place it happened, and Sophia was there. They talked, and Sophia explained her view of life to Emma, and Emma was still so shattered that it made sense to her. So ever since then, she's been trying to build herself up, to make herself strong, specifically, Sophia's definition of strong. And that's where you come into it."

" … me?" asked Taylor.

I nodded. "You'd lost your mother a year before. It was still very raw, very painful."

"… still is," she muttered.

I nodded. "I lost my brother more than twenty years ago. I still remember the pain."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she responded automatically. "Was it a cape thing?"

I shook my head. "No. Just a mundane accident. Anyway. You were recovering from your mother's death. You were showing that you were strong enough to keep going. But Emma felt that she had to be stronger. If Sophia hadn't been there, she may well have accepted you back into her life, and you would have supported each other."

"I would've done that, yes," agreed Taylor.

I nodded. "But Sophia was another matter. She talked about making you fight back, making you react, show you were tough enough to be Emma's friend. And Emma bought into it. But deeper down, Sophia had decided that you didn't belong, didn't deserve to be on the same level as her. She had determined that you were inferior, and had to learn your place."

Taylor shook her head slowly. "So no matter what I did, if I fought back, Sophia would have beaten me down, and if I kept my head down, Emma would have pushed harder to get a reaction, is that it?" she asked.

"That's about the long and the short of it," I agreed.

"And Madison?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Just a hanger-on. Doesn't have it in her to be a really popular girl, so she hangs out with the popular ones, and does what it takes to keep them liking her."

"Fuck," she said.

I kept quiet.

She swore again; I could tell she didn't have much practice in it, but for an amateur, she was definitely a fast learner. Standing up, she strode back and forth on the steps, redefining the heritage and behaviour of all three girls, in terms that may have even shocked the tough dock-workers that had attended the party.

* * *

Finally, the tirade came to an end; she was leaning against the wall bordering the steps, looking out over the car park. The echoes of her last shouts came back from distant buildings.

She turned back to face me, and I saw that tears were running down her face. "Thanks for telling me."

"Hey," I told her, rising to my feet. "Is all good. Want a hug?"

"… yeah. Yeah, I do."

So I hugged her, and she hugged me, and I felt the shudders running through her body slowly begin to ease away.

We separated, and I gave her my handkerchief; she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"Okay, now I know all that," she told me, handing back the handkerchief, "what's the deal with Sophia? Why is she not in suspension with the rest? Did the Protectorate finally figure it out? Or has she just been pulled out of Winslow altogether?"

I shook my head. "Friday night, I got a visit from Shadow Stalker. She doesn't lose, you see. Can't stand it. So she decided to come over and kill me instead."

She stared at me. "What the _fuck? _What did you _do?"_

I shrugged. "I knew her well enough that she'd try something like that. So I set a trap, caught her, wrapped her up in Christmas lights, and handed her over to the PRT."

The grin on her face slowly started to widen. "With a recording of the whole thing, I bet."

"With, as you say, a recording of the whole thing."

"So she's …"

"In custody, awaiting trial for attempted murder. For which she will go directly to juvenile detention, for two and a half years, more or less. After which her case will be reviewed to see if she should continue serving time as an adult."

"Christmas lights." She shook her head. "Holy fuck. I wish I could have seen that."

I pulled out my camera, turned it on, and flicked through a dozen images until I found the one I wanted. "Here."

She stared at the picture. It showed an unconscious Shadow Stalker, bound with brightly shining Christmas tree lights, as I had told her.

"And that's Sophia," she reiterated.

I nodded. "That's the very same. I can play you back the screaming tantrum she had when she realised that Armsmaster was on to her little game, sometime. It was even more impressive than the little dummy-spit you just had."

She giggled, a little self-consciously. "I, uh, sorry about that. I had to let it out somehow."

"Don't worry about it. I drove a taxi for ten years. I have seriously heard it all."

She shook her head, grinning. "Holy fuck. Seriously, holy fuck. I thought my day was good already. But this … all this. Everything. You've just made my day in so many ways I can't believe it. Even telling me what the fuck was going through Emma's mind. And what's happened with Sophia. And that picture. Fuck, I wish I could have a giant-sized poster of that picture."

I made a mental note. Her birthday was coming up, after all.

"So ..." I ventured. "Regarding Weaver joining the Wards. What are your thoughts now?"

"How long was she in the Wards?" she asked. I didn't have to ask who 'she' was.

"About six months, give or take," I replied.

"So for six months, she got to fuck with me, and they never took a blind bit of notice," she noted.

"On the other hand, they are actually good kids," I pointed out. "They try their best. It's the organisation that let you down, not the people. I think you'd really get along with them. And seriously, you need friends your own age. Teammates, even."

"Which reminds me," she said. "Last night, in the car, you said that I could easily have become a villain."

I nodded. "This is true."

"In the original time line ... _did_ I ... become a villain?" Her voice was tentative.

Again, I nodded. "Yes. At first, you joined the Undersiders because you kept getting bullied, and so you kept leaving school early. You actually wanted to be a hero, so originally you joined to try to be an undercover hero, to find out about them and then turn them in to the heroes."

"Wow," she commented. "That sounds a bit risky, with Tattletale and all."

"Yeah. You were worried about that, but she didn't seem to notice. And then, well, today, actually, after you had agreed to join, they decided to rob a bank."

"The bank robbery that's going down on Thursday," she realised.

"The very same. You had to go along with it, in order not to raise suspicions, but you tried to get some legal cover through Armsmaster. In case it went pear-shaped, you didn't want to end up in jail. After all, you were trying to do the right thing."

"But he was a dick about it," she guessed.

"Well, it didn't help that when you took on Lung, you didn't warn him about the immense amount of spider venom in his system. Armsmaster pumped him full of sedatives, Lung nearly died, and Armsmaster got in a lot of trouble over that." I decided to leave out the part about Lung losing his manhood.

"Ah, that could have something to do with it," she decided.

"Precisely. So, the bank robbery went through, you ended up with a lot of money, and inch by inch, you decided that the villains you liked were more fun to be around than the heroes you didn't."

She frowned. "Wow. I can see that happening. I really can. But it's not going to happen now, is it?"

"Not unless you want it to," I pointed out. "And unlikely, even if you presented yourself at their base. You've identified yourself as a hero, and you're not as close to the edge as you were when they met you in the other time line."

She nodded. "Thanks to you," she pointed out.

I shrugged. It was true enough, I guessed. But I didn't want to focus on that.

"However, in _this _time line, Lung shouldn't be having those problems," I observed. "And the Protectorate and PRT had a positive encounter with you. So even when you do meet Armsmaster, he's not likely to be more of a dick to you than he is to everyone else."

She nodded. "That's all true," she agreed. She looked at me. _"Do_ I have to make my decision right away?"

"Nope. Take all the time you want. You have all the facts now, so it's up to you." I grinned. "Although if you decide to join in the next week or so, most of the Wards do go to Arcadia, so you'll already know people when you get there."

"Huh. Well, I'll let you know Friday," she told me. "I should be able to make my mind up by then."

I nodded. "Sounds fair."

She held out her fist; I bumped it.

* * *

End of Part Thirteen


	14. Chapter 14

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Consequences

* * *

"Uh oh."

I looked at Taylor. "What?"

"Some ABB guys just let someone into the school through a fire exit."

I was on my feet. "Which one?"

"Southwest corner, near the chem labs." She paused, looking worried. "If my bugs are reading this right, he's a big guy."

I grabbed my bag and the folding chair, pushed the doors open. "Big guy, small guy, still my job."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, as I stashed the chair and bag in a fire closet.

I started down the hall, striding purposefully. "Go and ask him politely to leave."

She hurried to keep up. "And if he doesn't want to go?"

"Then I'll stop asking and start telling. Where are _you_ going?"

"With you. This is a big guy. You might need backup."

"Better if you hang back a bit," I cautioned her. "It might look a bit suss, a student helping out the security guard."

Her resolve was obvious. "I'm not going to let you get _hurt_."

"I can take care of myself."

What I didn't tell her was that I more or less had Contessa looking out for my interests until Friday. Or so I hoped.

"I'm still coming along."

* * *

She would come along anyway, even if I told her not to; I had figured that part out, anyway. "I don't suppose there's a chance you brought, uh _it_, to school?"

It didn't taker her long to figure out that I was referring to her costume. As I had already noted, bright kid. "No. Should I have?"

"Here? No. Once you move, and if you join? Yeah, probably."

"Good point. They're going upstairs."

"Crap. Which stairwell?"

"Southern one."

There were two stairwells in Winslow. We were nearest the northern one; we started heading that way.

"Aren't you going to call the police?"

"And tell them what? I'm not going to out you, not over this."

"Just tell them _someone_ told you! You don't have to say who!" Her worry was palpable.

She had a point; police backup would be nice. I didn't know what they had planned, but whatever it was, I didn't like it already.

=/=

"_But I can take them down!" insisted Eidolon. "I can __**end**__ them!"_

"_Our policy is hands off," Alexandria reminded him._

"_Hands off the Siberian and Shatterbird, maybe," retorted the cowled hero. "Because they're Cauldron capes, and because they might be able to take on the Endbringers. And Siberian might be able to face Scion. But the rest are fair game. And the Endbringer scenario may well be done with as well, if we're to believe Security."_

"_He's refused to tell Contessa anything about how to defeat Scion until Friday," pointed out Doctor Mother. "It may well be that the Nine are key to that."_

"_I don't believe so," mused Alexandria. "The first email he sent outlined weak points for both Jack Slash and the Siberian. If they are to be kept for a battle against Scion, why would he send such information first and foremost? The PRT is almost certain to use it against them just as soon as it is able."_

"_That's exactly what I'm talking about," Eidolon insisted. "If I take down Jack Slash, they fragment. Killing any one of the Nine will dramatically reduce the danger from the group, but killing Jack Slash would be a real game-changer. And I won't need to stop there. Mannequin, Burnscar, Bonesaw, Hatchet Face … I believe I should even be able to take out Crawler. All it requires is finding an attack that he hasn't yet become immune to."_

_Alexandria shook her head. "You forget Jack Slash's power, the one the email indicates. He's able to anticipate capes. If you come in to attack, he will be protected, and so will Bonesaw, and potentially others."_

"_Not if I can locate Manton and take him down," Eidolon persisted. "Then there's nothing stopping me from eliminating Slash and the others."_

"_Except that we're supposed to leave Manton alive," Alexandria reminded him patiently. "Knocking him out and then failing to take him into custody? That would cause some questions to be asked."_

"_So what would you have me do?" growled Eidolon. "I just got my power back in full, and now you're saying I can't even take down the Slaughterhouse Nine."_

"_Wait," advised Alexandria. "Wait till Friday. If Security's plan to take down Scion doesn't involve the Nine, then you've got free rein on them."_

"_And until then?"_

"_Locate the Nine. Tail them. See what they're doing. Save people from harm if you can, of course, but don't reveal yourself to them."_

"_Until Friday."_

"_Until Friday."_

=/=

As we climbed the stairs, I pulled out my phone, and dialled.

_"You have dialled nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"_

I tried to control my breathing. "I need the police."

_"Sir, what is your location?"_

"My name is Michael Allen. I'm the security guard at Winslow High School. I've just been given information that there has been an unauthorised entry into the school, including one adult male. This is probably gang related."

I had to stop speaking so I could catch my breath.

"_Sir, are you in danger at the moment?"_

"I'm going to confront the guy, you tell me."

"_Sir, do you have a description of this man?"_

"Not yet. I just know he's big, and that ABB recruits let him into the school."

"_Have you even seen this supposed intruder, sir?"_

I rolled my eyes. Taylor pointed at the floor above. _Great. Third floor._

"No, I have not. I just know he's here."

"_Sir, how do you know about this person if you haven't seen him?"_

"Because I just got told about him. Now can you _please_ send someone to Winslow?"

"_Sir, we have it on file that this number has been used once before to prank call for police when there was no emergency."_

I stifled the urge to swear. Was it just me, or was this person actively looking for reasons not to send someone to Winslow?

"Yes, that was me. I made that call. It was not intended to be a prank. But I am _on duty_, and I am about to confront an _intruder._ An adult man roaming the corridors of a school full of _teenage girls._ I don't know about you, but to me that counts as an _emergency._ Now please, _send someone over."_

=/=

I closed the phone and put it away.

Taylor looked at me. "Are they sending someone?"

I shrugged, and tried to catch my breath. "Fucked if I know. Where's he at?"

She pointed. "That way."

I went up the last few steps; Taylor followed.

"Where the hell are you going?"

She looked stubborn. "You'll need backup."

I sighed. "Okay, but stay out of sight. No matter what happens – _stay out of sight."_

"But I –"

"What did I tell you about how Masters operate? Never let the other side see you. So keep your head down. Let your bugs do the looking."

The sense of what I was saying seemed to sink in. "Okay. I can do that."

"Good." Even if I got smacked around a bit here, at least _she_ wouldn't get hurt.

Hopefully.

=/=

_Joey Lee was bored. Bored with this school, bored with the fawning attitudes of the teenage recruits, bored with this whole job. The ABB had been warned away from fighting in Winslow? Some know-nothing security guard had marked the place out as his personal turf? Well, for all Joey cared, he could __**have**__ it._

_It wasn't as if he was going to be expanding his territory, and it actually made it easier to recruit if the sprouts weren't gonna get their heads kicked in by the Empire skinheads just for wearing the colours._

_But Joey's boss - who also happened to be the father of the kid that the security guy had dumped on his ass - had decided that a lesson needed to be taught. So Joey was chosen for the job. Lung had been taken down, it was said, by some teenager who could control bugs; the ABB needed a win, to show that it wasn't on the back foot just yet, and Joey had been chosen to provide that win._

_Not that anyone would equate the beating of some fat old security guard to the defeat of Lung, in Joey's opinion, but he wasn't being paid to supply said opinion. He was there to apply fist to face, and boot to ribs. He was there, in fact, to convey the disapproval of the ABB to one Michael Allen, security guard._

=/=

As we headed in the direction indicated by Taylor's bugs, she frowned. "That's funny."

"What?" I asked. In situations like this, such a phrase was always an attention-getter.

"Half of them are going downstairs again. Spreading out."

"'Them' being the ABB kids?"

"Yeah. They're moving around, like they're looking for something."

"So they're not guarding the stairwell to keep people from coming up?"

She shook her head. "No. Like I said, it almost seems like they're looking for something."

I got it then. "Not some_thing_. Some_one._ Me. I challenged them yesterday. Told them this was my turf."

"But they trashed your car!"

I nodded. "That was just to get my attention. Or maybe it was some of them, while the others are pulling this crap."

"What crap is this?" she wanted to know.

"My guess? Bringing in muscle to show the interfering security guard whose turf it really is."

"So he's here to fight you?"

I shrugged. "Best guess? He's here to stomp my ribs. Make an example out of me."

"What are you going to _do?"_

"Best case? Show them I'm not a pushover. One thing you never do with bullies is back down, because then they step up and repeat. I back down now, they keep this shit up, I'll end up spending the whole day in the lunch room."

"And worst case?"

"I'll try not to let it become a worst case." Stabbed, stomped into the floor, hospitalised. None of that would be good.

I doubted they wanted to murder me; that would send too strong a message. But I had a marked aversion to being made into a punching bag either.

She frowned. "That's funny. They have spray cans, but they haven't sprayed anything yet."

"Hmm. Maybe they want to do some graffiti to mark their turf?" I paused. "Where are they now?"

She pointed at a corner up ahead. "Around that corner, down past the cross-corridor, around to the left. Don't look, there's three down near the corner, looking this way." She paused. "Are you really going to go down there, even though you know that's what they want?"

* * *

I went over the rough map of the school I held in my head. "Not exactly." I backtracked down the corridor a little way, and used my passkey to open an empty classroom. She followed me, looking curious.

My passkey opened the door on the other side of the classroom, leaving us in a side corridor. Half a dozen paces down the corridor, there was a fire closet. Opening it, I examined the large extinguisher that resided there.

It had a blue band around it; just what I wanted.

"Now _stay here,"_ I told Taylor, very quietly. I pulled the pin from the fire extinguisher, making it ready for use. Tucking it under my arm, I made sure my left hand was free.

Moving fast now – I had regained my breath somewhat – I strode down the corridor and around the corner.

Three ABB recruits were lounging there, looking down the corridor to where they expected me to appear. They were taken somewhat unaware by my sudden appearance. All three straightened up and took a step forward.

I gave them no chance to take action; I sprayed them with the pepper spray canister I held in my left hand. All three went down, coughing and choking.

Passing them by, I tucked the pepper spray back into its pouch. I rounded the last corner to see a large and brawny man, tossing a can of spray paint up and down in his hand. Half a dozen ABB recruits, the oldest and most senior in the school's nascent organisation, stood around him in positions of deference.

=/=

_It was a very simple plan._

_Joey would get let into the school by selected members of the school's ABB contingent, during the lunch hour. They would guide him up to the third floor, which was least used during that time. Joey had spray-cans in red and green, and he would prepare to use them to deface the school, in the time-honoured fashion._

_The ABB students would then go looking for Allen, and tell him that there was someone up on the third floor. He would come looking. Joey's lookouts would warn him of Allen's approach, and he would begin his work of applying graffiti._

_Allen would approach, tell him he had to leave, and Joey would pick a fight. He had seen pictures of the guy; over forty, overweight, over the hill. He didn't move like a fighter, didn't swagger like a badass. He moved like a man with too much weight to carry, and didn't care who knew it. Joey figured that one good hit, maybe two, would put him right where Joey wanted him._

_After that, the plan devolved to 'hit him till he falls down' with elements of 'kick him in the ribs till he can't get up'. No need for knives or guns; just plain, simple brutality. It usually worked for Joey._

_As an extra detail, he was thinking, he would then use the spray cans to emblazon Allen himself with the ABB logo, all over his nice clean shirt. Maybe his face too. So whoever found Allen knew without a doubt that the ABB did whatever the fuck it felt like._

_And then he heard what sounded like coughing and choking around the corner. No-one had called out that Allen was coming, but whatever they were doing, there was something going on ..._

_Allen stepped around the corner. And in his hands was a fire extinguisher._

_It had been a very simple plan._

_Joey was still trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong when the foam hit him._

=/=

"Looking for me?" I sang out as I swung the fire extinguisher into position. They were still looking around when I squeezed the handle and hit them with a high-pressure burst of white foam.

If it had been containment foam, it would have been a perfect ambush. But no, it was simple fire extinguisher foam. Which still served to blind them and make the floor slippery.

I let the extinguisher fall to hang from my right hand, retrieved my stun gun, and went straight in toward the big guy. He looked kind of Chinese, I guessed. But I wasn't going to stop and chat with him about his cultural heritage; he was _big. _A little taller than me, wider across the shoulders. The sort of guy you don't want to get into a fist-fight with.

So I closed with him while he was still trying to claw the extinguisher foam out of his eyes, and jabbed him with the stun gun.

This was about the point where my hastily-contrived plan went awry. Foam based fire extinguishers are noted to be not a good idea to use on electrical fires. What this means, apparently, is that foam is a conductor of electricity, being water based. I hadn't actually made that connection. So when I jabbed him – in the middle of a glob of foam, as I had done a bang-up job of covering him with the stuff – it crackled but he didn't go down. Apparently, foam is a better conductor than human skin.

That, or he was one tough son of a bitch.

=/=

_Joey felt the contact and the mild electrical shock, but no more than that. He wasn't even sure what had happened until he got the foam clear of his eyes, and saw the guard standing there with a stun gun in his hand, looking somewhat taken aback._

_He drew back his fist and let fly; the security guard stepped back hastily, and the badly-aimed punch missed by a whisker, but then the guy stepped in a glob of the foam. Allen's foot slipped and he went down on his ass, losing his grip on the fire extinguisher as he went; it clattered off to one side._

_Joey grinned. Part one of the job was already done._

_He stepped in, drew back his leg, and delivered a powerful kick to the prone security guard's ribcage._

=/=

Hitting the floor knocked some of the wind out of me, and the plus-sized boot that slammed into my ribs did some more of the same. Fortunately, he hit the undamaged side of the stab vest, otherwise his massive kick may have driven some of the sharper pieces of the fractured plates into my body.

As it was, the vest took a good deal of the impact, spreading it over the side of my body. Unfortunately, there was still a good deal of impact to go around, leaving me feeling as though I had been hit by a truck.

I swung my arm frantically toward his leg, trying to see if I could get skin contact with the stun gun. He saw me coming, did his best to stamp on my hand; I pulled it back hastily.

He kicked me again; I couldn't do much about that, but at least it wasn't anywhere near as painful as being hit by Lung. I rode out the impact, rolling with it, trying to get to the fire extinguisher.

One of the ABB kids, wiping his eyes free, saw me, and picked it up.

* * *

It was beginning to look bad. One on one was turning to seven on one; and even though any of those six was a fairly uneven match for me when I was on my feet, numbers counted when you couldn't get up.

The big guy was coming after me again, winding up for another championship kick. And then he stopped, coughing and choking.

I couldn't believe my luck; I scrambled to my feet. The kid with the fire extinguisher swung it at my head; I deflected most of the impact with my arm, but it still hit me hard enough to make my ears ring. But I got up anyway. I moved toward the kid; he stepped back, holding the extinguisher out of my reach.

I didn't give a shit any more; I swapped the stun gun to my other hand, pulled out the pepper spray, sprayed the big guy, and then sprayed the kid for good measure. This pretty well used up that canister, but it was for a good cause.

Then I pulled out my cuffs and applied them to the big guy. I was making sure that he and the kids I'd sprayed were all right, and that the other kids weren't going anywhere, when the police finally showed up.

After that, it was all over bar the shouting.

=/=

"_So did you get the security guy's statement?"_

"_Sorry, sergeant. He's taken a hit to the head, and they took him to the infirmary."_

_The sergeant grimaced. Hit to the head equalled head trauma. No statement taken under those circumstances would be seen as valid._

"_You did speak to him, though." It wasn't a question._

"_Yes, sergeant. He said he'll come into the station and give his statement just as soon as he's able."_

_The sergeant looked through the mesh-reinforced plexiglass at the prisoner in the back of the car. "Well, at least we've got enough to hold Mr Lee on until he fronts up, haven't we, Mr Lee?"_

_Joey Lee glared back at him, at least as much as he was able. His eyes were still reddened and swollen, despite the water that had been used to flush them out._

"_You need to arrest that damn security guard," he growled. "He's a menace."_

"_Oh right, we'll do that, sir," the sergeant grinned. "Just as soon as we vote your boss in as mayor."_

_Joey Lee continued to glare. It didn't help much._

=/=

"You used _pepper spray_ on _children!"_ shouted Principal Blackwell. Again.

I sat in the infirmary, holding the cold compress to the throbbing lump on my head. Her voice did absolutely nothing to mitigate the jabbing spikes of pain through my skull, and in fact seemed to markedly increase them.

"Yes, Ms Blackwell, I did," I replied wearily. "They were trying to get me beaten up. It seemed the thing to do."

"Do you have any evidence of this?" she asked me.

"Yes," I told her flatly. "I _know_ it. This is not a court of law. I have experience as a security guard. This happened. I was there. You were not. Why is it that you cannot take my word for it?"

"Because their parents are going to be threatening to sue the school the moment they hear that they have been subjected to such a barbaric –"

" – nonlethal takedown method," I interrupted. "No lasting harmful effects. Painful as hell, yes, temporary blindness and difficulty in breathing, I will grant you. But I checked on all of them, and they were all doing well by the time the police arrived and took him away."

"And that's another thing," Blackwell rounded on me. "Calling the _police_ before you even _saw_ this man? What were you _thinking?_ He could have been a perfectly innocuous visitor –"

" – who went straight to the third floor and waited for me with cans of spray paint, and members of the ABB," I interrupted, again. "Yeah, that's the sign of good faith, right there."

"But how did you _know_ where he was going to be? What he was planning to do?" she demanded. "You couldn't. It's not possible. You went up there planning to attack him, no matter who he was."

I took a deep breath. That hurt my bruised ribs, but not as badly as it might have. It hurt less than my head, anyway. "Ms Blackwell," I told her. "You're the principal of this school. I have no doubt that you know more about the running of this place than I ever will. You have your finger on the pulse, here. You know what's going on. Am I wrong?"

She paused, wrong-footed. "Uh ... no, you're not wrong," she replied. I smiled internally; it would have been almost constitutionally impossible for her to answer in any other way.

"Exactly," I agreed. "I would no more try to tell you how to run a school than you would try to tell me how to be a security guard, am I right?"

My tone was cheery, carrying her along. She hesitated, seeing the trap, but unable to avoid it. "... right," she assented.

"Well then," I went on, in tones of purest reason, "doesn't it stand to reason that I would have my own finger on the pulse? That I would be able to figure out things in my line, which don't make any sense to someone else, just like you know things in your line which I wouldn't be able to make head nor tail of?"

She hesitated again. "Uh ... right?"

I nodded firmly. "Exactly," I said once more. "I'm glad we agree."

She blinked, not quite sure where the conversation had gone wrong. "Uh ... how did you know that the man had entered the school?"

"One of your students told me, as a matter of fact."

"Who was it?"

I shrugged. "How would I know? You've got hundreds of the little buggers running around here. _You _probably know them all by first and last name, parents' occupation and star sign. _I_ wouldn't have a hope in hell of managing that."

She looked pleased at the praise; I hoped I wasn't slathering it on too thickly. "Well, I suppose ..." she conceded, but then she rallied again. "And what happened to the recorders?"

I looked at her innocently. "Recorders?"

She jabbed a finger at my belt. "Your infamous digital recorders. Why did they not record this particular altercation?"

I put on my best sheepish expression. "Well, this may be hard to believe, but I was relaxing, having lunch, when I got the word. And I clean forgot to turn on the recorders till it was all over."

She shook her head, her expression stern. "You're right. It is hard to believe. You have been so efficient, these last few days, that such an oversight flies in the face of all your previous actions. You _chose_ to leave them off. For what reason, I can not yet fathom. But you also captured a dangerous man, one with several warrants to his name, on school property, for which I suppose we owe you a certain leeway."

I stayed silent, not wishing to derail this train of thought.

"_But,"_ she reiterated. "You did, after all, use pepper spray on four children."

Maybe staying silent wasn't the best idea. "One of whom was doing his best to brain me with a fire extinguisher. After the big guy tried to kick my ribs in."

The school nurse had examined the lump on my head, checked out my pupil response, and had declared that I showed no signs of concussion, but had given me a cold compress for my head.

I had removed my stab vest so that she could prod my ribs. She decided that none were broken, or even fractured. There was a certain amount of bruising, but nothing serious. The vest, she told me, had saved me from a great deal of trouble, there.

"None the less," Blackwell informed me, "we will be holding a review of your actions. If any of them are found to be less than satisfactory, we may well be suspending your employment here, while we petition the school governors for a suitable replacement."

I lifted the cold compress to check out the lump on my head. It wasn't throbbing quite so much any more, which meant that the nagging pain in my head was due mainly to Principal Blackwell.

"Sure. That's your right and your privilege."

=/=

I wanted to add more, wanted to ask whether she had considered the repercussions of replacing me for standing against the bullying culture that the school had so far fostered, for doing my job, for defending myself. If she had considered how the next guard in line would see his job description; would he try to do the job, or just ignore it all in the name of not getting fired?

But I said nothing. If she hadn't thought about this, it wasn't my place to fill her in. She would find out, sooner or later, the easy way or the hard way. Not my problem.

In fact, my problems at Winslow were rapidly coming to an end. I cared little about how Emma and company went after Taylor left. I had set that in motion; whether they continued with their punishment or were pardoned shortly after my departure, was out of my control.

The truth was, as much as I would have liked to clean up Winslow altogether, once Taylor was gone, my main job there was essentially done. I would stay on there if they didn't choose to boot me out, and I would do the work, but I had other things to worry about.

Of course, after Friday, I had _no _idea what was going to happen.

Oh, I had a basic idea. Some things were currently ongoing that my personal flock of butterflies would not have overturned. But many things, in and around Brockton Bay, were definitely going to be different. So after Friday, much of what was going to happen was new to me.

Hopefully, it would turn out better than the way it had gone in canon.

=/=

Eventually, Blackwell left me alone in the infirmary; she had the never-ending job of being school principal, after all. The nurse checked on the lump, checked my pupils again, and pronounced me well enough to leave.

"Thanks," I told her, buckling on my work belt once more. "I appreciate it."

"You really should take some painkillers," she warned me. "Between your ribs and your head ..."

I shook my head, very gingerly. "Nah. I prefer to stay away from that stuff until I really, really need it."

"And you don't need it now?" she queried.

"As the saying goes, it only hurts when I laugh."

She nodded. "Right. Well, be careful. And get plenty of bed rest. There's no concussion that I can detect, but you still took a fairly hard knock there."

"No worries," I told her. "And thanks."

=/=

I exited the infirmary, only to come face to face with none other than Gladys Knott.

"Hello, Mrs Knott," I greeted her formally.

She glanced around. "Michael!" she exclaimed in an undertone. "I heard you were hurt!"

"It's all good," I explained to her. "Minor bruising around the ribs, and a ding to the scone."

"A what to the what?" she asked blankly.

"A hit to the head," I hurriedly explained. "Not bad, though. He didn't get a chance to swing hard enough to hurt. Didn't even split the skin."

Her fingers explored my scalp until they found the lump that remained from the fight.

"Does that hurt?" she asked, her fingertips feather-light on the bump.

"A bit," I admitted. "But it's getting better all the time."

"No double vision, blurriness?"

I had to grin. "Nope and nope. The nurse already checked out my pupils. My brain cells are apparently all intact."

"Except for the part where you went upstairs and confronted a thug whose entire reason to be here was to beat you to a pulp," she pointed out scathingly.

I shrugged carefully. Very carefully. "Well, he didn't."

"But you could have gotten _hurt."_

My tone was as soothing as I could make it. "I'm _fine."_

She glanced around again, quickly, then pulled me close and kissed me. I was surprised, but not so surprised that I didn't kiss her back.

We disengaged, quickly, in case someone came along. With the way my luck had been going, someone would have walked around the corner just then. No-one did, which I considered to be a minor miracle.

"_Don't do that again,"_ she whispered fiercely.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, without an ounce of sarcasm. Gladys Knott in a temper was not someone I wanted to mess with.

"Saturday," she murmured, and walked off.

I paused to consider that. In that single word, she had packed several layers of communication. Firstly, she had let me know that I was still in her good books insofar as seeing her on Saturday went. Secondly, she had subtly reminded me that we had the prospective date on Saturday, on the off-chance that I had forgotten. Thirdly, she was telling me that she was looking forward to seeing me on Saturday.

I watched her go, then went back to where I had stashed the folding chair and bag in the fire closet. They were still there; I carried them back to the small security office, then I went about my rounds.

And if I walked a little more slowly than before, and took a few more rests, then no-one seemed to notice or comment.

=/=

At the end of the school day, I collected the girls' phones from Principal Blackwell's office, and was waiting when the last bell went.

Emma, Madison and Julia trooped out of the classroom, this time under Mr Quinlan's bleary eye, and faced me. Solemnly, I handed each phone back, then tilted my head, carefully. "Let's get you outside then," I told them. "Have a good one, Mr Quinlan."

He nodded to me, a little less warily than when I had encountered him in the lunch room on Monday. "You too, Allen," he replied.

The girls followed me to their lockers, where they put away what books they had been using, and then out to the front steps. Emma walked alongside me, looking up at me with curiosity.

"What happened to _you?"_ she asked.

"What do you mean?" I enquired.

"I mean, you're moving a little more carefully now. Your shirt's got a bit of dirt on it. And that looks like a nasty lump on your head." She paused, as though she couldn't parse the information. "Did you get into a _fight?_ When the police came, what was that about?"

I decided to answer a question with another question. "How long did they search the room for my recorder?"

She grinned, glancing back at Madison and Julia. "The whole period."

"Really wanted to find it, huh?"

Julia's voice was sullen. "That was a mean trick."

I turned to look at her. _"Now_ you're getting it. All the mean tricks you ever pulled in your life? I can top them."

Looking back at Emma, I nodded. "Yes, I got into a fight. A man came to the school. He wanted to beat me up. The police took him away."

"Did you kick his ass?"

"Depends on your definition. I hit him with pepper spray and handcuffed him while he was still trying to claw his own eyeballs out."

"Oh." Emma went quiet, apparently trying to visualise this.

"By the way you're moving," Julia put in spitefully, "_he_ kicked _your_ ass. You just used a dirty trick to win."

My tone was mild. "Why yes, I did. And I'll do it again. Every time. Because I might be a bit sore tonight, but he'll be in _jail_ tonight. And as far as I'm concerned, a win's a win."

We were out on the steps by then, the other students streaming past and down the steps. Moving off to the side a little, we waited for the main rush to abate, and for their parents to come and collect them.

Julia's father arrived first; I nodded to him as I motioned for her to go with him. He nodded back, and they both left. She flashed me the finger as she went. I paid no attention.

Madison's mother was next; she greeted me quietly.

"Mr Allen. Has Madison been any trouble?"

"Not that I know of," I replied gravely.

"That's very good. Come along, Madison."

They both headed off down the steps, and then I saw the unmistakeable figure of Alan Barnes getting out of his car. He trod up the steps toward me.

"Mr Allen."

"Mr Barnes."

"Emma been good?"

"Far as I know."

"Good. Come on, Emma girl."

Just before she left, Emma turned to me. "I hope you feel better tomorrow."

I watched her walk away down the steps, raising an eyebrow. She hadn't even sounded sarcastic.

"Huh."

I turned at the voice; Taylor stood behind me, her expression quizzical.

"Was it just me, or did Emma actually say something nice to you?"

"Maybe she's just trying to get in good with the person she sees as being strongest right now." I thought for a moment. "Or maybe she even meant it. Or both. Who knows?"

Her tone was dismissive. "Not me. And I don't much care."

I decided to change the subject. "I thought you'd already gone."

"Nah. Wanted to see how you were going before I went. Knew you'd be here."

"We clear?"

She didn't even need to look around. "Sure. No-one in earshot."

"Good. Thanks for the helping hand in finding that guy."

"Not a problem. You okay? He kicked you pretty good there."

"Oh christ, you didn't look, did you?"

She snorted. "What do you take me for? No, but my bugs are pretty good at surveillance now."

I nodded. "Took a couple of good hits, but the stab vest helped."

"Still, falling over wasn't in your game plan, was it?"

"Not hardly. I'm just lucky he inhaled a bit of foam or something. Gave me the time to get up."

"Foam, right." She was grinning.

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What do you _think_ he inhaled?" A fly buzzed past my face. Taylor was looking very smug indeed. Even with the headache, it didn't take much effort to add two and two.

"Ah. Of course." My only surprise was in the fact that I hadn't already figured it out for myself. "Thanks. I mean it. You saved my ass, right there."

Her grin widened. "I'm a superhero. It's sort of my job, right?"

"It is. Now, are you good for Thursday?"

She nodded seriously. "I just hope it'll turn out like you say it will."

"So do I, Taylor. So do I."

"See ya, security guard."

"See ya, superhero."

We bumped fists; she headed off down the steps to catch the bus.

I sighed and went back inside. Two more hours to go. _Ugh._

=/=

"_**Director Piggot, I have an incoming call from 'Security'. Shall I put him through?"**_

_Emily Piggot didn't hesitate. "Yes."_

_There was a moment of dead air, then the familiar voice came on the line. __**"Hello?"**_

"_Security?"_

"_**That's me. How are you, Director?"**_

"_I've been better. Working out how to cover the Alcott girl. Any suggestions?"_

"_**I've got information that some of Calvert's men might be compromised. Better to keep his entire unit away from the whole thing."**_

_Piggot covered her eyes. "Christ. That's all I need. Okay, I can move shifts around. Anything else?"_

"_**Yeah. I need you to have maybe eight containment foam sprayers ready for immediate action on Thursday. Them and the best men you've got for them."**_

"_Containment foam. Eight sprayers."_

"_**If you can, sure. And one more thing."**_

_She sighed. "It's always one more thing. What do you need now?"_

"_**Firing range target cards. Four inches square. Do you have those in stock?"**_

_The Director blinked. That one was out of left field. "Uh, yes?"_

"_**Good. Arrange for each of the foam sprayers to have one fixed on top before they deploy. Make it so the operator has a good clear view of the card."**_

"_May I ask why?"_

"_**What, and ruin the surprise? No, trust me, it will all become abundantly clear on the day."**_

_Director Piggot gritted her teeth. "If you're playing games ..."_

"_**Not in the slightest, I assure you. But if the wrong people hear the full plan ... you know how this sort of thing goes."**_

"_Well, you haven't steered us wrong yet. So we'll do this. But I'll want to know why, after."_

"_**Trust me, you'll know. Have a good day, Director."**_

"_And you, Security."_

_The phone went dead, and she hung up._

_Emily Piggot sat for a while, thinking. Then she picked up the phone again._

"_Put me through to the armoury."_

=/=

The bus ride home from Winslow was interminable. My bruises jolted inside the stab vest with every bump the vehicle hit, and all I could think of was getting there. It didn't help that I didn't have a window seat, and thus did not have the side of the bus to lean on.

I have an old injury to a hamstring that plays up when I'm tired and hurting; I was both this afternoon, and so I was limping when I finally entered the courtyard. No-one accosted me as I went up the stairs, step by painful step. There wasn't even anyone waiting inside the flat.

I closed the door behind me, and thought of Gladys, and how much I would have liked to see her face at that moment. Just to hold me and tell me I could rest.

But she wasn't there, and so I had to make do on my own.

Slowly I took it all off; the work belt, the uniform shirt, the stab vest. There were indeed some lovely bruises on my ribs where the big Chinese guy had kicked me.

_Oh crap,_ I realised. _I meant to go by way of the police station before I came home. They're waiting on my statement._

For a moment, I considered going out again, but I really couldn't face it. So instead, I took a shower.

The hot water did me the world of good; it even made the bruises feel a little better, or maybe it made the rest of me feel a little less like I'd been trodden into the pavement.

=/=

_"So how was your day at school, kiddo?"_

_Taylor paused. "I … learned a lot today, Dad."_

_Danny looked around at her tone of voice. She looked thoughtful, bemused even._

"_I'm presuming you don't just mean schoolwork."_

_She shook her head. "No. I don't just mean schoolwork. I mean about Emma and Sophia and Madison, and why they were bullying me for so long. I finally learned what it was all about. And I learned some other stuff too."_

_She paused; Danny waited, his expression encouraging. Ever since Taylor had opened up to him on the subject of her powers, and wanting to be a superhero, they had begun to reform the bond of father and daughter that had been severely strained, ever since Anne-Rose had died._

_Whatever Taylor wanted to tell him now, he would listen to her._

"_All right," she said at last. "I'll tell you, but to make it really make sense, I gotta tell you something that might get Mike in trouble if you tell anyone you know about it. So you can't tell anyone, okay?"_

"_Okay," he replied promptly._

"_I was talking to Mike at lunchtime today," she began, "and he sorta-kinda accidentally on purpose let it slip that Sophia Hess is a cape. She's in the Wards. The one they call Shadow Stalker …"_

_As she talked on, Danny's eyes grew wide. He felt anger at what had been going on, and why, but also relief that it was over._

_After she told him of Mike's revelations about Emma and her cronies, she filled him in on the adventure of the intruder into the school, and Mike's fight with him, and her own part in that._

"_Mike's fine," she hastened to add. "He's got a few bruises, but he's doing all right. The other guy got arrested."_

"_Well, I'm glad to hear of it," he told her. Then he looked her in the eye. "So about this stuff with Emma. How do you feel about that, knowing what it was all about?"_

"_It's weird," she mused. "I'm still pissed at her for what she did, and I always will be, but the reason behind it ... it puts it in a whole new light ..."_

_They talked long into the evening._

=/=

After the shower, I put a microwave meal on to heat – _oh, how the mighty have fallen, from Gladys' cooking to this_ – and started up the laptop.

The first thing that popped up was an email message, with no name in the Sender field.

_Saw police report. Are you okay?_

I typed a quick response.

_Sore, but alive. Thanks._

A response came through a few moments later.

_Good to hear._

I mused over that for a couple of minutes, and then the microwave dinged. Getting up, I collected the meal, and sat down again. With it at my elbow, I logged on to the Parahumans Online boards.

=/=

**Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.**

You are currently logged in, **mack0813**.

You are viewing:

• Threads you have replied to

• AND Threads that have new replies

• OR private message conversations with new replies

• Thread OP is displayed.

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• Threads and private messages are ordered chronologically.

You have (1) new message from **AllSeeingEye**.

You have no infractions and no warnings.

=/=

I checked out the post from Tattletale first. Hopefully, it wouldn't be another attempt to troll me.

After I read it, I wished it had been.

=/=

**AllSeeingEye *New Message*: **Boss has me looking into u sry. Plz keep head down.

=/=

_Crap,_ I thought. _I'm on Coil's radar._

That was not the most pleasant of thoughts.

_Hopefully, Contessa's bullshit powers beat out Coil's bullshit powers. At least until Friday._

I took a deep breath, and sent a reply.

=/=

**mack0813: **Stall till Thursday PM?

**AllSeeingEye:** I can try.

=/=

That would have to be good enough for me. There was nothing else that I could do about it at the moment. And Sveta was waiting on me. I couldn't let her down.

=/=

**mack0813:** Hey, where's my best girl?

**GstringGirl:** Mack, you're here!

**mack0813:** Said I would be, didn't I? (hugz)

**GstringGirl:** You did. And you're here. (hugs)

**mack0813:** It's good to see you again, Svetlana. So to speak.

**GstringGirl:** You too, Mack. You too.

**mack0813:** So, do you remember where we were up to? Or did you want to tell me how your day went?

**GstringGirl:** My day was boring. Can we just play the game?

**mack0813:** We can most definitely do that.

**GstringGirl:** Oh – how was your day?

**mack0813:** eh, nothing much happened. Work, sleep, eat, repeat as necessary.

**GstringGirl:** (smiles)

**mack0813:** So do you remember where we were in the game?

**GstringGirl:** Sort of. You'd just finished explaining about magic, and about the cute little dragons, and now Svetlana wants one.

**mack0813:** Svetlana as you, or Svetlana as the slave girl?

**GstringGirl:** Yes.

**mack0813:** hehehe good point

**GstringGirl:** So, what happenssss? (bounces in seat)

**mack0813:** well, you see, when last we left our valiant heroes ... whoops, sorry, wrong introduction. Our winsome slave maiden ...

**GstringGirl:** That's me!

**mack0813:** That, as you say, is you. Well, let me see, where were we?

**GstringGirl:** in the port city with all the strange people and the toothy seagulls and the cute little dragons.

**mack0813:** Right, right. Well, the port city, you eventually figure out, is called Kowsom. But you don't stay there long.

**GstringGirl:** Aww, i wanted to meet a dragon

**mack0813:** You spend one night in a dingy little hovel that apparently calls itself a tavern or an inn or something of the sort. The beds are narrow, the mattresses apparently stuffed with horsehair and rocks, and you have the feeling that you're sharing the bed with something.

**GstringGirl:** Not Janji, I hope.

**mack0813:** No, no, Janji is still feeling the effects of the voyage. In fact, he only had one helping at supper that night. And this is a man for whom a four-course meal barely counts as a light lunch. No, what you're sharing the bed with is more like ... bugs.

**GstringGirl:** ew ew ew bedbugs? Ive got bedbugs?

**mack0813:** Not just you. As it is, you don't seem that attractive to them, and you only get a few little nips. Everyone else seems to be scratching like mad when you see them the next morning.

**GstringGirl:** Even Janji?

**mack0813:** Especially Janji. It must be all the rich food they indulge in, while giving you only the bland stuff and the scraps.

**GstringGirl:** wow haha. thats awesome. so theyre all scratching like crazy ...

**mack0813:** ... while you're all like 'bugs? What bugs?'

**GstringGirl:** hahaha i love it serves them right

**mack0813:** So anyway, in the morning, you have a breakfast of stew. Janji has a fairly large helping, but you're not so sure about it, because you found some bones in yours, and they seem a little small to be rabbit. About the right size for a rat, you'd estimate.

**GstringGirl:** yeah, not having second helpings.

**mack0813:** Janji notices your lack of appetite and makes a joke about it, entirely forgetting about his own troubles over the last few days.

**GstringGirl:** I ignore him loftily.

**mack0813:** Probably the wisest course. Anyway, after breakfast, you all end up mounted on these strange beasts called 'horses'. Like camels, they have four legs and a saddle. Unlike camels, they don't kneel down so you can get up on them. And they smell weird.

**GstringGirl:** I've never seen a horse, so I don't know how they smell.

**mack0813:** With their noses, obviously ... Sorry, bad joke. I have no idea what a camel smells like either, but they'd smell different, and Svetlana prefers camels because that's what she's used to.

**GstringGirl:** haha so funny. Okay so Svetlana's on a horse. Does she think she can get away from Janji on this horse?

**mack0813:** Not really, sorry. Not only does Svetlana only have the vaguest idea of how this thing is steered and controlled, but they don't even give her reins. Her horse - a fairly docile specimen of the breed, as far as Svetlana can see - has a lead rein attaching it to the wagon.

**GstringGirl:** Wagon?

**mack0813:** yeah, as they don't have elephants for sale, Janji is riding in a wagon.

**GstringGirl:** hahahahahahahahahahahaha

**GstringGirl:** oh god oh god thats the funniest thing ever. Hes really riding in a wagon?

**mack0813:** He really is. With cushions, even.

**GstringGirl:** and the guards?

**mack0813:** All on horseback. They seem to know how to ride.

**GstringGirl:** ok, so we're riding through the forest now? with lots of trees? and trees are strange to me?

**mack0813:** Yes, you are, yes there are, and yes they are.

**GstringGirl:** Good. Because I'm pretending to be scared of the forest.

**mack0813:** … scared of the forest.

**GstringGirl:** yeah. Making like I'm terrified of it. The wind shifts in the trees, I'm looking around all worried. A branch creaks, I want to hide. That sort of thing.

**mack0813:** Sure, you can pull that off. You're from a culture where women are seen as barely human. Second class citizens at best. For a 'weak woman' to show fear where there is no real need to show fear, they believe that without hesitation. It bolsters their male egos.

**GstringGirl:** Good. I play it up. Make them think I don't even want to go into the forest to, uh, go to the bathroom.

**mack0813:** Okay … sure. I'm guessing you go behind the wagon or something.

**GstringGirl:** Sure, if they let me.

**mack0813:** Yeah, they let you.

**GstringGirl:** But what about the chain?

**mack0813:** The chain?

**GstringGirl:** yeah. Last time you told me that there was a slender chain around my wrist, attaching me to Janji.

**mack0813:** I did, didn't I. And that means that even when you're sleeping in the inn, they attached the clasp on the other end of the chain to the bed you were sleeping on. So … with the chain … the guard leads you around to the other side of the wagon, attaches the clasp to the wagon, then leaves you to do what you have to.

**GstringGirl:** You said it's a slender chain, right?

**mack0813:** Yeah, it's sort of symbolic, and also a measure of the contempt in which they hold you. A weak chain for a weak woman, that sort of thing.

**GstringGirl:** Excellent. And when I'm on the horse?

**mack0813:** It's attached to the horse's saddle.

**GstringGirl:** Does anyone watch me very closely while I'm on the horse?

**mack0813:** Not really; you're at the back, and more or less in the dust of the wagon.

**GstringGirl:** Okay, I'm going to try to find something to break or bend a chain link so I can get loose from it if I have to.

**GstringGirl:** Uh, I use an experience point.

**mack0813:** well, then, you're in luck. At the midday meal – which Janji participates enthusiastically in – you are given metal cutlery with which to eat.

**GstringGirl:** And allowed to keep it?

**mack0813:** Apparently so.

**GstringGirl:** Great. As soon as we're on the way again, I'm doing my best to pry open a link on the chain around my wrist.

**mack0813:** Using the knife and fork together, you manage to open a link a small way, so that if you have to, you can slip free of the chain altogether. However, this takes some little time, and any time anyone looks at you, you have to look like you're just sitting there on the horse.

**GstringGirl:** I complain about the horse.

**mack0813:** After a while, people stop paying attention to you.

**GstringGirl:** exactly.

**mack0813:** … which is just what you want. Nice one. Have an experience point.

**GstringGirl:** How did I get that one?

**mack0813:** By using in-game actions to get a result without specifying what it was first. Roleplaying, in other words.

**GstringGirl:** Oh cool. Well, anyway, Svetlana's going to be looking for a chance to make a break for it.

**mack0813:** You do realise that if she's on foot, the guards on horseback are going to be able to easily run her down.

**GstringGirl:** oh. Did not think about that.

**mack0813:** So, as the evening comes on, you figure you must be at least thirty mile out of Kowsom or more. For all you know, you're in the middle of nowhere. Forest all around …

**GstringGirl:** … which I'm acting more and more scared of all the time.

**mack0813:** And the guards are noticing and laughing about. One pulls a branch off a bush and prods you with it.

**GstringGirl:** I shriek and jump.

**mack0813:** everyone considers it a great joke.

**GstringGirl:** I tell them all they're being very mean and to stop it

**mack0813:** Janji, who's been laughing the loudest of all, has his personal tent erected. He makes a point of stating that you will be sleeping in there. With him. All night.

**GstringGirl:** He wants to do more than sleep, doesn't he?

**mack0813:** Well, yeah, the guards are all doing the nudge-nudge-wink-wink 'someone is getting some tonight' while they think you aren't looking. Some don't even care.

**GstringGirl:** Well that settles it.

**mack0813:** Settles what?

**GstringGirl:** Making a break for it now.

**mack0813:** Oh? Describe how you're making a break for it.

**GstringGirl:** First off I wait till the guards all have taken the saddles off their horses – they do that, don't they?

**mack0813:** They do indeed.

**GstringGirl:** then I ask very meekly to be allowed to go behind the wagon to attend to my personal business.

**mack0813:** Janji makes a very crude joke about how you don't need to put your pants back on when you're finished. All the guards laugh and make more comments.

**GstringGirl:** I blush and try to hide it, then ask again, even more meekly.

**mack0813:** One of the guards walks you behind the wagon. He attaches the clasp to the wagon, then stays.

**GstringGirl:** Stays?

**mack0813:** Yeah, he seems to think you need to give him a kiss before he'll go away.

**GstringGirl:** (sighs) I give him a quick peck on the cheek.

**mack0813:** He leaves you alone, with a comment that the next time you'd better be more forthcoming than that. He gestures at his groin, which you're not sure you understand, or want to.

**GstringGirl:** Both. Definitely both.

**mack0813:** And now he's out of sight. You're alone.

**GstringGirl:** Good. I slip the link, and try to sneak away.

**mack0813:** It might need a bit of luck. The guards are still fairly alert. Especially the one who asked for the kiss.

**GstringGirl:** I spend an experience point to get away without being seen.

**mack0813:** You do indeed. You tiptoe away, slip between the trees, and you're well into the forest before you hear the shout of alarm.

**GstringGirl:** I run.

**mack0813:** It's definitely getting dark. Shrubs and trees and fallen logs make it hard to run. And your shoes are hard to run in.

**GstringGirl:** I kick them off and run anyway.

**mack0813:** Well, you crash through the bushes, stub your toes, and in general make a fair racket. But that's okay, because they make a racket too. And they have to slow down to hear you, whereas you aren't slowing down for anyone.

**GstringGirl:** No, no I am not.

**mack0813:** Which is when you stumble into a clearing in the forest. Your clothing is a little torn, due to contact with shrubbery, but not enough to make you immodest. You're hungry tired, thirsty, scratched, lost, and you can hear pursuit gradually coming closer. Oh, and you smell like horses.

**GstringGirl:** This seems familiar …

**mack0813:** Why yes, yes it does. Svetlana the runaway slave girl pauses, weighing her options.

**GstringGirl:** What options do I have?

**mack0813:** You can hide and hope they go past. You can keep running and hope you outdistance or lose them. Or you can investigate that strange little rustling sound coming from under a bush.

**GstringGirl:** Rustling sound?

**mack0813:** Yes; as you look, a tiny form, no bigger than a kitten, tumbles out. It's … pick a colour.

**GstringGirl:** green

**mack0813:** It's covered in tiny iridescent green scales, and it has little tiny wings, and it looks up at you with huge soulful eyes and makes a cute little lost-baby-bird sound.

**GstringGirl:** ohmygod ohmygod is it a dragon?

**mack0813:** It does appear to be a dragon, yes

**GstringGirl:** Does it look lost or hurt?

**mack0813:** Actually, now that you come to mention it, it's holding one of its wings awkwardly.

**GstringGirl:** Oh my god, I go to my knees in front of it and hold out my hands to it.

**mack0813:** it eyes you hopefully and makes the baby-bird noise again

**GstringGirl:** I gather it up in my hands, careful of its wing.

**mack0813:** it snuggles into the warmth of your body.

**GstringGirl:** oh god too cute. What's wrong with its wing?

**mack0813:** One of the long bones seem to be broken. If you run with it, you may make the injury worse.

**GstringGirl:** Can I set it?

**mack0813:** You can try. But you'll have to splint it somehow. You know, tie it to something that'll immobilise it.

**GstringGirl:** I look for straight twigs on the ground.

**mack0813:** You don't see any strong enough to act as a splint.

**GstringGirl:** Wait – the knife. Is it long enough?

**mack0813:** Yes, yes it is.

**GstringGirl:** I want to set the bone and then cut bits of cloth from my sleeve to tie the knife to the bone as a splint. Can I do that?

**mack0813:** Sure. But you hear pursuit nearing all the time. You're not sure if you can get this done before they get here

**GstringGirl:** I don't care, I spend my last experience point so I can fix the wing. I don't care if they capture me so long as I can help him.

**mack0813:** Well, you crouch down under a bush and rip away some shreds of cloth from your sleeve, then you go about setting the bone. It isn't happy with the discomfort this involves, but it lets you do it anyway; once the bone is set and straight, it seems to understand that you did it for its benefit, and it settles down into your arms.

**GstringGirl:** aww poor little thing. I hold it gently and make sure it's comfortable.

**mack0813:** well, that's an experience point straight back for that.

**GstringGirl:** wow really?

**mack0813:** yeah, you spent it on something totally unselfish.

**GstringGirl:** I did didn't I?

**mack0813:** Yes you did. But now that last one you spent has run out, and you get the feeling that pursuit might be doubling back. Coming way too close.

**GstringGirl:** But now I can run with Esmerelda in my arms and she won't be hurt?

**mack0813:** Esmerelda?

**GstringGirl:** I like it as a name.

**mack0813:** Esmerelda it is. Yes, you can.

**GstringGirl:** I run on through the forest. It can't go on forever. I'm used to really small patches of trees, aren't I?

**mack0813:** Yes, you are. So you're running through the forest, and all of a sudden, you catch the scent of cooking meat.

**GstringGirl:** Not like that rat stew we had?

**mack0813:** No, this smells like real meat. Very tasty. Your mouth waters.

**GstringGirl:** I move on, trying to see where this smell is coming from.

**mack0813:** All of a sudden, you step out into a slightly larger clearing. There is a campfire in the middle of it, and a man sitting on the other side of the fire. As you step into the clearing, with Esmerelda in your arms, he rises to his feet, his hand going to the shortsword at his waist.

**GstringGirl:** Whoops. I say "Please help me, I am being chased."

**mack0813:** He says something in a language that you don't understand. You think it might be Mornish, or whatever the local barbaric tongue is called.

**GstringGirl:** Oh dear.

**mack0813:** … and I just saw the time. I need to get to bed soon. So I'll leave it there for the time being.

**GstringGirl:** oh no, really?

**mack0813:** Really, sorry.

**GstringGirl:** Oh okay. Its a good game, I'm enjoying it a lot.

**mack0813:** So am I. Play more next time?

**GstringGirl:** Oh god yes. Esmerelda sounds so cute. And I want to see what happens!

**mack0813:** She is. And good thinking to use the knife as a splint.

**GstringGirl:** thx. And Mack …

**mack0813:** Yeah?

**GstringGirl:** Thank you for doing this game for me. I am enjoying myself so much. I really am. More than you can imagine.

**mack0813:** Hey. Friends is friends, right?

**GstringGirl:** Yes, friends is friends. (hug)

**mack0813:** gnight, Svetlana the brave and resourceful escaped slave girl (hugz)

**GstringGirl:** good night Mack (more hugs)

You have signed out of Private Chat.

=/=

I stretched and yawned as I logged off the computer, then glanced at the time. Far too close to midnight for my liking, given that I was getting up at five thirty.

With another stretch and yawn, I stumbled off to bed.

I knew I was going to feel my bruises tomorrow.

* * *

End of Part Fourteen


	15. Chapter 15

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Confrontations

* * *

_**0115 Hours**_

_**British Columbia, Canada**_

* * *

_Dragon was puzzled and a little concerned._

_Since Security's dramatic email, and subsequent warning to her regarding Saint, she had exchanged a few brief emails with him. Nothing concrete had been forthcoming, however, about the meeting which he had attended with Director Piggot and Armsmaster._

_Nor had either the Director of the PRT East-North-East, or the leader of the Protectorate, same region, said anything to her about what happened in that meeting. Intellectually, she knew that this had to do with the message that Security, otherwise known as Michael Allen, had conveyed to her – "Saint has eyes and ears on you" – but she wanted to __**know**__, however vaguely, that something was being done. _

_On the other hand, she did __**not**__ want to inadvertently tip off Saint that something was actually being done. And so, when she picked up faint satellite images of a stealth aircraft, flying low over Lake Ontario from the east, she did her best to dismiss them from her awareness. _

_That didn't work, so she opened an analysis subroutine, and directed the images to it. With the least possible amount of processing time being allocated to it, it would take minutes on end for the images to become available again, in any readable format._

_When the aircraft turned toward the north and crossed over the coast into Canada, she tried harder to ignore it, even though her directives insisted that she identify it._

_Forced to act, she flashed its IFF with a lightning-fast pulse, got back the result she hoped for. The IFF result immediately went into the queue for the analysis program as well. It would not prevent the data from being spotted, but it would delay it somewhat._

_She hoped that the delay would be long enough._

=/=/=

* * *

_**0120 Hours**_

_**Over Toronto, Ontario**_

* * *

"_Sir, we were just pinged."_

_Armsmaster looked up. "By who?" If the Canadian military, or worse, the Guild, had the transport on their radar, this could get very awkward, very quickly._

"_No return ID. One ping, lasting thirty-four milliseconds. Stripped our ident beacon, then shut up."_

"_Ah. Carry on." _

"_Sir, but if –"_

"_Unless and until we are challenged, carry on with the mission," Armsmaster ordered._

"_Yes, sir."_

_He figured he knew who it was. He just hoped she knew how to keep her mouth shut._

=/=/=

* * *

_**0131 Hours**_

_**Dragonslayers' Base, Yonge Street, Toronto, Ontario**_

* * *

"_Sir, you need to come look at this."_

_Geoff Pellick looked around at the underling trying to get his attention. He frowned irritably. He was in the middle of a maintenance diagnostic on his armour; there was an irritating tic in the left shoulder main actuator, and he was trying to trace down the reason for the fault. As it was, it was easier to wear the armour and try to pinpoint the problem, than to activate the actuator from outside the armour._

"_Can it wait?" he asked. _

"_No, sir."_

_He paused, then put down the diagnostic tool. There was little sense in hiring them, paying them good money, then ignoring their advice._

* * *

_The man led him to the bank of screens that represented his window into Dragon's mind._

"_What am I looking for?" he asked. It took a while to achieve proper immersion in all the flowing data; to understand what was ongoing, what was static, what was important and what was just random transient information._

"_Over there, sir." The man seated at the screens pointed. "Satellite imagery started coming in just a little while ago."_

_A flow of images was coming up now; grainy, on the bleeding edge of resolution. In each, an aircraft of some sort. Flying low over Lake Ontario. If the numbers along the side of the picture were to be trusted, __**extremely**__ low. And the picture ... it almost wasn't there at all. __**Stealth.**_

_He watched the flow of images. With a shock, he noted that the craft was less than sixty miles from Toronto, from the base, and getting closer with every passing second._

_And then he looked at the time-date stamp on the latest image._

"_These are thirteen minutes old," he observed. "Why are we getting old data?"_

"_Not sure, sir. They seem to be undergoing an analysis process before we can access them."_

"_See if you can't get past that."_

"_Yes, sir." The man began working at the keyboard._

* * *

_The imagery changed; the craft was turning to starboard. To the right. Crossing the coast._

_Less than twenty miles out._

_And the images were still thirteen minutes old._

_There was the record of an IFF ping. The result displayed on the screen._

_**Brockton Bay PRT.**_

_At the same time, the man at the keyboard looked up and pointed at the image that he'd just rescued from the image processing queue. It was much, much more recent._

_Saint didn't even need to see it. He knew what it meant._

_He slapped his helmet visor down and chinned the switch to activate the public-address speakers on the outside of the suit._

_"**Alert!"** he yelled. **"Alert! Prepare to – "**_

_That was when the doors blew in._

=/=/=

* * *

**0530 Hours**

**Brockton Bay**

* * *

I had indeed been correct. When the alarm clock blared me into wakefulness the next morning, I felt the bruises. Every single damn one of them.

The lump on my cranium had reduced itself to a sore spot, which I supposed was a good thing. The bruises, on inspection, were showing an impressive range of colours. This did not make them feel any better.

I stumbled into the shower, got myself approximately clean, and then put enough clothes on to pretend to be decent. In the kitchen, I poured milk into cereal and sat down at the laptop.

Up till now I had been a little hazy over the actual location of Brockton Bay on the map of the United States; it was hard to shoehorn it in, where all the likely places were already taken by existing cities.

But over the last few days, I had been noticing a preponderance of New Hampshire licence plates on vehicles, so I gathered that the city was in that state. However, this could be a false positive, so I decided to find out once and for all.

The wiki article I called up decided the matter.

"_Brockton Bay is a city in Rockingham County, New Hampshire, in the United States ..."_

* * *

Other information was on the page, but most of it I knew from my reading and re-reading of the story. I dismissed the page, was about to log off, when an email popped up. The From field was blank, which meant that it was Dragon.

_Something happened last night. Can you tell me what?_

I thought about this for a while, but nothing occurred to me.

_Sorry,_ I replied. _But I'll ask around when I get the time._

The reply came back almost immediately. _Thank you. I hope you're feeling better._

I grimaced and sent off another reply. _Yeah well, I'll let you know that one this afternoon._

There was no reply forthcoming, so I shut down the laptop, ate my cereal, and prepared for work.

=/=/=

I was glad of the stab vest, there could be no doubt about that. It had definitively saved my life when we took on Lung, and my ribs when that ABB enforcer had kicked me. But wearing it was long, slow torture. Every time I inhaled, it compressed my bruises and reminded me all over again why I didn't actually want to be an action hero.

Riding on the bus, pressed in with other people, didn't help all that much either. Though I supposed I appreciated the fact that accidental impacts were spread over the entire area, rather than a single sore spot.

I got off at Winslow as usual, was let in by Principal Blackwell, and we walked back to her office to sign out the master keys.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked me, more as a matter of form than anything else, I supposed.

"I've been better," I admitted. "But I've been worse, too. Nothing's broken; I'll live."

"If you wanted to take a few days off ..." she hinted broadly.

I chuckled, then stopped. As I had told the school nurse the day before, it hurt to laugh.

"If I let this keep me home, then I may as well stay home when I've got a cold," I pointed out. "Or a headache, or whatever. Nah, I'm good. I can do the job."

She gave me an appraising glance. "I've known teachers to stay home on less excuse," she commented. I waited, but she didn't expand on it.

We got to her office. She handed me the keys, and I signed the book. Thus, my work day started.

=/=/=

My walk-around of the school completed, I went out on the front steps to wait for the girls on in-school suspension. Alan Barnes greeted me politely; I responded in kind. Emma nodded to me, but did not speak. Madison was quiet and subdued. Julia seemed to be still simmering with anger, but she did not speak either. Her glares, however, should have been able to ignite paper.

I escorted them to their classroom. Once they took their seats, I leaned against the desk for a moment, then straightened up again.

"In light of what happened yesterday," I observed, "I think I'll collect your phones now instead of after the bell." I let a tinge of sarcasm enter my voice. "We don't want any more embarrassing misunderstandings, after all."

Madison already had her phone out. Emma, sitting far away from the other two, also had hers on the desk. I collected both of those, then returned to Julia, who hadn't responded.

"Your phone, Miss Morrow?" I prompted.

"Didn't bring it," she retorted rudely. "And you're not allowed to search my bag. I looked it up."

"Not unless there is a reasonable suspicion that you're carrying something dangerous, no," I agreed. "But I trust you. You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

She glanced at me warily, but I was already turning to Madison. "Miss Clements, may I have your permission to use your phone for a moment?"

Startled, Madison hesitated, then nodded. "Uh, sure," she replied. "Here, let me unlock it for you."

She did so; I took it back. Calling up the phone directory, I scrolled through until I found "Jules".

"So, Miss Morrow, you left your phone at home today?" My voice was bland, unrevealing.

"Sure," she snapped. "I already told you. What, you deaf as well as stupid?"

"Let's find out," I told her, and tapped the number to call it.

It took a couple of seconds to go through; this was about as much time as it took for Julia to realise what I was doing. Her face paled, and she glanced down at her bag, just as her phone rang from within it.

"Well now," I observed mildly. "Miss Morrow, there appears to be a phone in your bag. Kindly retrieve it for me, thank you."

She didn't have much of a choice; the ringtone was quite audible to everyone in the room. Reluctantly, glaring at me the whole time, she rummaged through her bag until she found the offending mobile. As she brought it out, I ended the call. "Thank you," I told her. "And you too, Miss Clements, for your assistance"

Madison said nothing; Julia glared at her. Madison ignored her, but raised her hand. "Mr Allen? May I change desks?"

"Sure," I agreed. "Knock yourself out."

As Julia stared, Madison picked up her bag and got out of her seat.

"Mads?" asked Julia. "Where are _you_ going?"

Madison looked her in the eye. "I don't want to get into any _more_ trouble," she stated firmly.

She moved back to sit alongside Emma; neither one spoke, but a glance passed between them. For her part, Julia stared furiously back at the both of them, then subsided in her seat, her jaw set stubbornly.

Observing this exercise of teenage social dynamics afforded me no little amusement, but I said nothing further. Instead, I leaned back against the desk with my arms folded, and waited for the bell to ring.

=/=/=

I encountered Taylor in the hall between first and second period. She was looking happy; her head was high, her stride firm.

I fell into step beside her. "Hey," I greeted her.

"Hey," she replied. "How you feeling?"

"Everyone's asking me that today," I grinned. "Head's fine, ribs are bruised. Nothing I can do about that. How about you?"

"Oh, I'm great. I'm getting class work in on time and I'm not having to look over my shoulder every minute of the day." Her animated expression fell away, and her voice lost some of its cheer. "Of course, there's _Greg ..."_

"Greg Veder?" I asked. "Is he bothering you?"

She looked momentarily startled. "How did you – oh, yeah, sorry, forgot."

"Yup," I agreed. "So what's Mister Veder up to?"

"Same old, same old," she sighed. "I'm happy, so he thinks I'm happy to see _him._ I just want to get the class work done, but he wants to _talk_. About everything _except_ class work. Arrgh." A sideways glance, and her tone became joking. "I couldn't persuade you to beat him up for me, could I? Or pepper spray him?"

"Hey," I told her sympathetically. "I can't solve _all_ of your problems. You're just gonna have to bear with it until your transfer goes through."

That reminder brought a light to her eyes. "Yeah," she agreed. "There is that. Oh well, I can stand him for a _few _more days, I guess."

I chuckled. "That's the spirit. Anyway. Got a favour to ask."

"Shoot."

"Can you point out to me the head honcho of the ABB in school? I want to have a word with the young man."

"Sure," she agreed. "I see him, I'll let you know."

"Appreciate it," I told her sincerely. We bumped fists, and parted ways.

=/=/=

The second period had ended, and the third was due to start, when the cloud of bugs formed around my head. They moved out in front of me, leading the way down the hallways. I followed along; sure enough, there they were, a group of boys in ABB colours, along with a couple of girls.

The bugs that had given me the escort flew on, zooming past the tallest ABB recruit there before dissipating into random flight patterns.

They turned to look at me as I approached.

"Hey," I greeted them neutrally.

"Hey," returned one of the shorter ones. "What you want, security man?"

"Talk," I told him. "Not to you. Don't want to waste my time. Talk to your boy there. The boss of you."

"There ain't no –" he began, and then the tall one put a hand on his shoulder.

"Buzz, Freddie," he advised the younger boy, then stepped up toward me. I recognised him; the one who had hit me with the fire extinguisher. He was still very slightly inflamed around the eyes.

"Talk about what?" he asked bluntly.

"Yesterday," I replied. "Got out of hand. You thought you could pull shit. Shit went down. Your man's in jail."

"He put _you_ on the floor," he riposted.

"And I got right back up." I was taller than him, and wider. He was trying to stare me down, and it wasn't working.

"I could try harder, next time."

I took a step forward, into his comfort zone. He wasn't going to take a step back, not for me or anyone else, and so he had to look up to maintain eye contact.

"Next time ..." I told him softly, "you and some of your boys go into hospital."

"That supposed to be a threat, fat man?" he sneered.

"Not a threat. A promise. See, I told you boys, nice and simple. This is my turf. Not yours. Not Empire. Not Merchant. Mine. Nobody fights here. I catch you fighting, I kick your asses. I come down hard on you."

I looked from him to each of the other ABB kids. "Goes for you, goes for Empire, goes for Merchants. Any of you little bastards starts a fight, I'll stop it. Empire boys start on you, I'll put 'em down. Stoners want to start a fight, I'll make 'em wish they'd stayed in the corner with their dope. It doesn't matter. I don't give a shit. _No gang fights in Winslow._ Do I make myself absolutely clear?"

He jerked his chin up defiantly. "You shave your head, man. That says Empire to me. That says you'll maybe ignore what they do, and kick our asses no matter what."

I shook my head. "I trim it short, sure, but that's just because I'm going bald anyway. Not a skinhead, not a Nazi. As far as you or anyone else is concerned, I'm colourblind. Like I said, I don't give a shit. But if you do start a fight, I _will_ kick your ass. Is that understood?"

We stood for a long moment, eyeing each other off. Finally, he jerked his chin up again. "Yeah. Understood."

"Good. Message over. End of story. You have a good day."

I turned on my heel and moved off; I hadn't gotten a dozen paces, when the ABB youth called out to me. "Hey, security man!"

I stopped, and turned around. "Yeah?"

"How's your ribs?" There was a bit of chuckling from the others.

"Bruised as fuck. How's your eyes?"

"I can see just fine," he boasted.

"Good. Now look at me. Next time you pull any shit like that, you're gonna _wish_ I'd only pepper sprayed you. Got me?"

He nodded. "Got you."

"Good." I turned and left.

=/=/=

Taylor found me sitting outside at the top of the steps, during lunch hour. I found it peaceful, restful even.

"Hey," I greeted her.

"Hey," she replied, sitting down on a step and opening her bag.

"Thanks for helping out."

"Not a problem. Did you get it sorted out? I notice you didn't come to blows."

"Sometimes you don't have to."

"Huh," she commented. "Not many people think that way."

"_I_ do. Rule number one: get their attention. I think I did that yesterday."

She snorted laughter. "I should damn well hope so!"

Something occurred to me. "Ah."

She turned to face me, alerted by the tone of my voice. "What?"

"I just remembered something. I need to go to the police station sometime today. They're waiting on a statement regarding what happened yesterday."

"Ah, right. So they can charge him for what he tried to do to you."

"Yeah. One more nail."

She shrugged. "Suits me. He was kicking you pretty hard."

I laughed, very briefly. "Yeah," I told her dryly. "I kind of noticed."

"Just so long as you're okay."

"Yeah," I assured her. "The vest took the worst of it. And hopefully I won't need it Thursday – ah crap. I need to make a phone call. Anyone in hearing?"

"Nope," she replied confidently. "Go ahead."

I pulled out my phone and dialled.

=/=/=

_Director Piggot was fairly sure her plans for Thursday were sound, but she needed to go through them a few more times to make sure there were no hidden flaws. She scrolled up to the top again ..._

_Her desk phone rang._

_Muttering a comment about distractions at the __**worst possible time**__, she picked it up._

"_Director Piggot, I have Security on the line. Shall I put him through?"_

_She sighed. "Certainly. Go ahead." At least these calls were never __**boring.**_

"_**Good afternoon, Director Piggot. Security, here."**_

"_Good afternoon, Security. How can I help you?"_

"_**I'm gonna need Canary."**_

_She paused for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant. Then the meaning became clear. "You're talking about ..."_

"_**Yes, the singer. The one who's ... is she going through trial right now, or still awaiting trial?"**_

_Piggot tapped keys. "Trial is ongoing." She paused. "What do you mean, you __**need**__ her?"_

"_**You're gonna be wanting to take down a fairly big threat, tomorrow afternoon or maybe Friday. And Canary is gonna be very useful. Also, she doesn't deserve to go to the Birdcage. She's a nice kid who never intended to hurt anyone."**_

_The Director called up the information on Canary. "It says here she –"_

"_**I know what it says,"**__ he told her impatiently. __**"Does it say that her boyfriend cheated on her, and told her that she'd never amount to anything before he left? That he turned up on her doorstep and demanded half her earnings?"**_

_She scanned the page. "It does not," she reported._

"_**That's the facts of the case," **__he told her. __**"Paige Macabee is only guilty of saying one wrong thing at an emotional moment, and having her powers accidentally make that thing come true. You tell me, has no other cape made that sort of mistake, ever?"**_

"_Of course they have," Director Piggot retorted. "That sort of thing happens." She didn't like capes, but she had to be truthful about this sort of thing._

"_**So she doesn't belong in the Birdcage," **__he reiterated. __**"You know it and I know it. She's a sweet kid, not at all aggressive. Does not like hurting people. And she'll possibly be the key to minimising casualties in the upcoming raid. Saving PRT lives. So I need her. **__**You**__** need her."**_

"_But ... she's in the trial system. I'd have to ..."_

"_**Do what you gotta do. Canary is key to this working out best for everyone."**_

" _... I'll do my best," she replied with a sigh. "Was there anything else?"_

"_**Ah, yeah, nearly forgot. Tell Kid Win his specialty is modular systems. Got that?"**_

"_Kid Win's specialty is modular systems. I have that, yes."_

"_**Excellent. And if you want to freak him out just a little, ask him how his Alternator Cannon is coming along."**_

"_I ... see. Thank you."_

"_**Not a problem. See you tomorrow."**_

"_Ah, one more thing, before you go. You're at work right now, yes?"_

"_**Yeah, I'm on till five. What's up?"**_

"_We need to confer with you regarding something ... sensitive. Not over the phone. We'll have someone there at five to pick you up."_

"_**Sure. Five it is."**_

"_Good. I'll talk to you later."_

"_**See you then."**_

_He hung up, and Piggot stood from behind her desk. She needed to stretch her legs anyway, and he had just given her an excuse to go and see the Wards._

"_Ask Kid Win how he's getting along with his Alternator Cannon, hmm?"_

_If Kid Win was working on something, she should have gotten something, some sort of paperwork. Especially if it was big enough to justify the name of 'cannon'. She had not gotten such paperwork, as yet. It was time to ask some searching questions. _

_Her expression as she left her office was ... predatory._

=/=/=

Taylor looked at me as I ended the call.

"Well, _that_ sounded interesting from this end," she observed, eyes bright with curiosity.

"Sorry, can't discuss classified information," I replied, trying to keep a straight face.

"Classified my bug-controlling butt," she snorted. "What was that about Canary?"

So I explained the actual facts around her arrest, her trial, and her upcoming imprisonment in the Birdcage.

"Like I told the Director, she's not a bad person," I concluded. "She's sweet and rather timid, from what I understand. It's just that ... "

"... saying the wrong thing can have disastrous effects," she concluded.

"Right," I agreed. "But if she agrees to certain limits on what she says and does, there's nothing to say she can't have a normal life."

"Which has got to beat the Birdcage so hard that it's not even comparable."

I shrugged. "You know it, and I know it ..."

"Yeah. So what's that about a raid ...?"

"You'll get all the details, along with everyone else, tomorrow," I assured her. "After we deal with the bank robbery."

"And you get your talk with Panacea," she added, just to show that she was paying attention.

"Exactly correct," I noted.

"So wait, Canary's someone else who gets a raw deal, so you're changing things for her?"

I nodded. "But it's legit too. She will be a great help."

"And you can't tell me details."

"Not until we're closer to the time."

"You're no fun." She stuck out her tongue at me.

"I'm a security guard," I reminded her. "'Fun' isn't in my job description."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, sure."

* * *

We finished the rest of our respective lunches in companionable silence, broken only by the occasion random comment. With about fifteen minutes to go, we both got up to go inside.

"No trouble happening?" I asked as I gathered up the folding chair.

"Nope," she assured me. "It's all quiet."

"Excellent, and thanks."

"Not a problem. See ya, security guard."

"See ya, superhero."

We bumped fists, then headed inside.

=/=/=

The latter half of the day went past relatively smoothly; I made my rounds, checking each floor in turn. It was long, tedious work, but it was necessary.

When the last bell rang, I was standing outside the classroom, waiting for the girls to emerge. Gladly had had charge of them for the last period; we cordially ignored one another. I gathered the girls in by eye, and they fell in behind me as I headed for the main doors.

Zoe Barnes was waiting on the steps when we walked outside. She hugged her daughter, and went to turn away, but I cleared my throat. "Emma?"

"Yes, Mr Allen?"

"You might want your phone." I held it out.

"Oh, thanks." She afforded me a small, tight smile, then walked down the steps with her mother.

Julia's father turned up next. He nodded to me, ignoring the other children streaming around us, and greeted his daughter.

"Come on," he told her. "Let's go home."

"Wait a minute," she objected. "What about my phone?"

"What phone?" I asked.

"The phone you took from me this morning," she insisted hotly. "You can't just steal my phone like that! Dad, tell him he can't steal my phone!"

"Now, Mr Allen ..." began Mr Morrow.

"I think Julia's mistaken," I told him blandly. "She assured me, twice, that she'd left her phone at home. The phone that was in her bag must belong to someone else."

"I didn't -" began Julia, then shut her mouth.

"I have two witnesses and a voice recorder that say you did," I reminded her almost gently. "You also assured me that I wasn't allowed to search your bag, and asked me if I was deaf as well as stupid."

Julia's father was staring at her in astonishment; she flushed and then turned pale by turns.

"Did you say that?" he demanded of her. "Did you lie to him, and then insult him?"

"It wasn't like that, I swear!" she insisted.

"We can always play this back and see if we can figure out what it really _was_ like," I suggested, taking out the voice recorder.

"I wouldn't bother," put in Madison unexpectedly. "If Mr Allen says it was like that, then it really was like that."

If my glance at her was mildly surprised, then Julia's stare was thunderstruck. "What the hell?" she demanded. "Mads, what are you _doing?"_

Madison shook her head. "Keeping you from digging the hole any deeper, Jules. Just face up to what you've done. Take the punishment. Seriously." She went back to contemplating the city skyline.

Mr Morrow looked at Madison, then at Julia, then at me.

"So ... you're saying that my daughter lied to avoid having her phone confiscated, then insulted you to your face?"

I shrugged. "That's her call. If she didn't lie, then she had someone else's phone in her bag." _And she doesn't get it back, _I didn't have to add.

He stared at his daughter. "Julia?"

She seemed to be undergoing an internal struggle. I watched with interest.

"Fine!" she spat at last. "I did it, all right?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, did what again?"

"Lied to you! Now give me my fucking phone back, you thief!"

"No," her father stated, just as I was about to hand it to her. "I'll take that, I think."

"Sure," I agreed, and dropped it into his hand.

She stared. "Dad? What the hell? That's my _phone!"_

"I bought it; I pay the bill every month," he reminded her, tucking it away in his pocket. "I think you'll find that it's _my_ phone. I just let you use it. And, young lady, you just lost that privilege. Now get in the car."

They started down the steps. Amazingly, she was still talking.

"But Dad, how am I going to stay safe when I go out with my friends, if I don't have a phone?"

"Very easily," he assured her. "You're grounded."

Her anguished _"What?"_ was the last we heard of that conversation, before they both got in the car.

* * *

"Ouch," I observed.

Madison shrugged. "I tried." She didn't sound overly concerned.

"You did. Oh, there's your dad now."

She looked around as Mr Clements climbed the steps. "Oh, hey, Dad."

"Hi, sweetpea. Ready to go?"

"Sure. Just as soon as I get my phone back from Mr Allen."

She turned toward me, and I handed her phone over. "See you tomorrow, Madison."

She snorted. "Hey, just because I helped you out with Julia doesn't mean we're _friends_ now."

I grinned. "Of course not."

She nodded. "Just so that's clear. Well ... see you tomorrow."

I watched them descend the stairs and get into the car. It started up, and they drove out of the car park. I was fairly certain that Taylor had left; the only children still hanging around were waiting for a later bus. I leaned on the concrete wall and waited till that bus came, and they boarded it. Then I went back inside.

=/=/=

At four o'clock, I was taking a temporary rest in the staff break room, when Gladys entered.

"Mrs Knott," I greeted her politely.

"Mr Allen," she replied. Getting a cup of tea, she sat beside me. "How are your ribs?"

"Still bruised," I informed her with a grin. "But the bump on my head's gone down, glad to say."

"That's good to hear at least," she noted. "How do you think you will you be feeling on Saturday?"

I grinned at her. "Should all be good by then."

"Good." She patted my knee lightly, then got up. "Excuse me, I just have to freshen up."

I watched her enter the attached bathroom area, then the exterior door opened and Gladly poked his head in. "Who's – oh, it's you."

"It's me," I agreed mildly. "Help you with something?"

He entered all the way, and closed the door behind him. "Yeah, you can help me with something. You can turn those damned recorders off. You're such a creepy fuck, recording everyone, all the time."

"You're allowed that opinion." I took a drink of water.

"I said, turn those damned recorders off," he snapped. "I do not give you permission to record me!"

"Well, the truth of the matter is, I don't need your permission," I advised him. "But in the interests of being nice ... sure." Reaching down to my belt, I took both recorders out, and turned the primary one off; the red LED dimmed.

"And the other one," he ordered me.

"Oh, it's off," I informed him. "See, the light's not on."

"Good." His expression turned ugly. "Because you're a spineless piece of shit who needs a recorder to stand up for yourself. No-one likes you around here, you know that? Everyone I've spoken to hates you and wants to see you gone. So you'd be better off just leaving. Never coming back."

"Really?" I asked mildly. "Everyone? You've spoken to everyone?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "No-one likes you, Allen. Face it, you're fat and ugly and you don't fit in here anyway."

"Seriously, Gladly, you shouldn't hold things in. Let me know how you really feel."

"This isn't a joke!" he snapped. "Everyone hates you!"

"I don't actually believe that," I replied mildly.

"But I've spoken to them all," he reiterated. "Are you calling them all liars?"

"No," I told him, and stood up. He wasn't very tall or wide, almost short and skinny enough to be taken for a student, and I tended to loom over him. "I don't think you've asked anyone their opinion. And I do not believe that every single staff member hates me."

"Oh yeah?" he challenged me. "Name one."

"Me," Gladys Knott said, from right behind him. "I think Mr Allen's doing the best he can, in a bad situation. And it's people like you who do their best to make it harder."

He turned around, staring at her. "It's not what it sounds like –"

"I rather think that it is," she told him coolly. "You asked Mr Allen to turn off his recorders, just so that you could subject him to that diatribe. For shame, Mr Gladly. For shame."

"It's okay, Mrs Knott," I assured her. "I've heard worse. Oh, and Gladly? Recorder going on again ... now." I clicked it on, and put them both back in their pouches. "Nice talking to you. Interesting opinions."

Nodding to Gladys, I strolled out of the room.

=/=/=

She caught up with me, several minutes later.

"I'm sorry for that," she told me breathlessly. "He does so like being popular, with everyone."

"And I kind of punctured that, I guess," I surmised. "Well, he could have actually done his job once in a while. But I guess he chose option B: attack the guy who exposed his ineptitude."

She shook her head. "I just told him in detail how unfair he was being to you."

"Maybe you shouldn't have," I observed. "He might get the idea we're close."

For a moment she looked concerned, then he shrugged. "If he does, he does. I care little about what that man thinks."

"I don't care what he says about _me,"_ I pointed out. "But he can hurt you by spreading damaging rumours about you and me together."

She tossed her hair. "Let him try. I've been here years longer than he has. And I _know_ I have more friends among the staff."

I smiled. "Well, anyway, thanks. Maybe he'll pull his head in a bit."

She looked at me a little oddly. "That's a strange way to put it."

"Is it? I read it somewhere, thought it sounded descriptive."

"It does, yes. Well, I have to get back to grading papers. I will see you perhaps tomorrow or Friday. And definitely Saturday."

"I'm looking forward to it," I assured her.

She kissed me briefly, but only on the cheek, always mindful of possible watchful eyes. I watched her walk away, then continued on my rounds.

=/=/=

Five o'clock eventually rolled around. I turned in my keys, signed them back in, and locked Principal Blackwell's door behind me.

I walked down the echoing corridors, nodding to the cleaners who were already at work, and out through the front doors. There was a nondescript van waiting in the car park; I strolled down the steps, across the asphalt, and climbed into the passenger seat.

The driver turned to face me, his hand on a holstered gun. "Security?" he asked.

"That's me," I agreed.

"Agent Reed, PRT. Good to meet you." He glanced at my uniform, then looked harder. "Wait, you're really a security guard?"

"It makes for a great cover," I confirmed blandly.

His mouth twisted in a grin. "You have a distinct point." He started the engine. "Buckle up. Let's go."

I pulled the seat-belt into place as he set the vehicle moving.

Something was niggling at me, however.

"Reed," I said as the van bumped through the gutter and he merged with traffic.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know what I'm being called in on?"

"Sorry, can't discuss that in a non-secure location."

That made sense. But the niggle was still there.

"When Piggot briefed you on this, did she give you my real name?"

"No, sir, she did not."

Something caught my eye. A van, not unlike the one I was riding in, heading back the way we'd come.

"Despite the fact that she knew I'd be coming out of the school without anything to hide my identity."

We slowed and turned at the intersection. I had just enough time to see the other van pulling into the school car park.

"What are you getting at, sir?"

"Well, I –"

At that moment, my phone rang.

I reached into my bag, found it, and answered it.

"Hello?"

"_Mr Allen?"_

"Uh, yes?"

"_This is your ride. Where are you, sir?"_

"I'm, uh –"

A certain noise interrupted me. It was the noise of the hammer being drawn back on a pistol.

A pistol currently being pointed at me by my friendly driver.

"Hang. Up."

* * *

End of Part Fifteen


	16. Chapter 16

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Resolutions

* * *

I stared at the gun, and the man behind it.

He wore a uniform that looked authentic, even at this range. I had worn various uniforms in my career, and I knew what to look for; this was, as far as I could tell, a genuine PRT uniform. He even had a discreet badge, tucked into his pocket.

He was holding the gun relatively low down, so people wouldn't be able to see it through the windscreen, and it probably wasn't pointed directly at any vital organs, but if he fired it, it would hit me. And the stab vest wouldn't do me much good at this range.

Agent Reed – or whoever he really was – kept most of his attention on the road, a practice of which I approved. However, he had enough of an eye on me to be able to pull the trigger if I did something stupid.

Not that I intended to do anything stupid. I had faced very few guns in my life, but I was fully aware of the lethal potential of a piece of shaped metal entering my body at somewhere near the speed of sound. It would, as the saying went, ruin my whole day.

"Hang up," he repeated. "Turn your phone off."

I hung up. Turned my phone off.

"You're not PRT," I said, my throat suddenly gone very dry.

He chuckled briefly. "It's complicated."

That gave me an important data point. Abducting me at gunpoint was the mark of a bad guy, and I knew of only one bad guy who had PRT troops at his disposal.

"I see," I observed, and I was fairly sure that I did. "What would you say if I told you that your boss was making a really bad mistake?"

"I'd say that I'm the one holding the gun, and you're the one who got into the van," he responded.

I opened my mouth to keep him talking, but then the world went black as something was pulled over my head from behind. I went to protest, to try to yank the bag off. Something stung my arm, and the world went _really_ black.

=/=

_Director Piggot's grip on the phone was white-knuckled. Her voice was a snarl. "What do you mean, he's __**not there?**__"_

_**"Uh ... that he's not ... here?"**__ The hapless agent at the other end of the line did not sound at all happy. And nor should he, reflected Piggot. __**"I rang him, he answered, then he hung up on me. Now his phone's turned off."**_

_"When you've finished stating the obvious, I want you to do something useful. Find out where he's gone, and __**get him back!**__" She slammed the phone down on the agent's assurances, then glared around at the people in her office. "I hope to God __**someone's **__got a useful idea, here."_

_"We might be looking at this from the wrong angle," commented Armsmaster._

_The Director turned to face him. "Explain."_

_"Instead of looking at how he disappeared, I'm thinking that it might be a better idea to look at who knew he was being picked up, who was in a position to pick him up before our man got there, and who had a motive for doing so."_

_"And ...?"_

_"I'm just cross-referencing our list of potential moles, the ones that Security told us about and Dragon located, with security access sufficient to know that Mr Allen was being picked up ... ah."_

_"You have something?"_

_"One name. Reed. He signed out a van an hour ago. The GPS has been disabled."_

_"I want an all-points on Reed and that van," ordered Director Piggot grimly. "And bring the others in for interrogation. Anything they know, I want to know."_

=/=

_Coil paced up and down, waiting for the sedative to wear off. The antagonist had been administered, so it was only a matter of time. Security, once he had him face to face, was nothing special. Heavy-set, unfit, close-cut hair, vanDyke beard going grey ... the image of security guards everywhere._

_He thumbed through the man's wallet. Driver's licence, security licence, concealed carry permit, some odds and ends ... no surprises, no clues as to who he really was. At least he had a name; Michael A. Allen. But even that didn't help him much._

_So what did someone like this have going for him? What was a high-level Thinker doing working security at a nothing school like Winslow? What angle was he working?_

_For a moment, he considered getting Tattletale in on this. Her ability to read people was phenomenal; if there was anyone who could extract Security's secrets, it was her._

_He put the idea aside for the moment; while her talent would be undoubtedly useful, she did not necessarily have his best interests in mind, and she may just pick up something damaging from Security that she could turn against him. No, for the moment it would just be him and his men._

_The man tied to the chair began to groan and move around a little. He was awake._

_Coil leaned over and pulled the bag off his head._

=/=

When I woke up, I could see nothing. Nor could I move. I was just ascertaining that I was tied to something, probably a chair, when the bag covering my head was pulled off, and I was left blinking in the light.

Ominous shapes loomed around me. I wondered where Contessa was.

_Either I'm not in danger yet, or she's found another way to get the information. Maybe she's working with whoever this is, to get her information faster._

_Fuck, I hope not._

As my eyes cleared, I could tell I was in a wooden building of some sort. Faded wallpaper covered the walls. Light glared in through a window, but I could make out no outside details. _This must be some sort of safe house._

The closest form leaned over – way over – and peered down at me. Despite the back-lighting, I could, by squinting painfully, make out that the guy was skinny as a rake, and his face and body were blank, black, no features. Farther down, white bands crossed the torso.

I had suspected who was behind this. Now I knew. I forced a chuckle. It hurt.

Coil spoke. His voice was light, pleasant. Not the voice I had envisaged. "So you're the mysterious Security?"

"Yup. And you're Coil." I didn't make it a question.

"Indeed I am. And you are at a crossroad of your life."

I forced a grin, tried to relax. "Do tell."

"From here, you have three options. The first is that you agree to work for me, give me sole access to your talents. I promise, I can make you a very wealthy man."

"And the other two?"

"The _second_ is that you work for me, involuntarily, by way of inducements. I pay you nothing. But as is the manner of such things, I would get less out of you than if you were willing. So I am reluctant to go down that path."

"Wow, your concern for my well-being is overwhelming."

He seemed annoyed by my lack of apparent fear or respect. I had fear in plenty; I just wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. As for respect … I knew who and what this man was. I had no respect for him.

"The third option, Mr Allen, is that you die, here, in this room, and no-one mourns your passing."

"Hmm." I paused for a moment, just long enough to let him think that I was seriously considering the options. "Actually, I have a counter-offer. A fourth option. But it's for your ears only."

He gestured; the room cleared. The door closed behind the last man. "What's your counter-offer?" He sounded dismissive.

"The fourth option, _Mr Calvert_, is that I'm going to say two words, and you're going to let me go. Just two words, that's it."

He had stiffened when I said his name. When he spoke next, his voice was cold and hard. "I highly doubt it. What two words are these?"

I spoke clearly and slowly. "'Cauldron. Asset'." I paused. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

It was Coil that paused this time. "No, you do not."

"Good. Do I have your complete and total attention?"

"You have it, yes."

I wanted to do an impression of Montgomery Burns, but I decided that it might not go down well. So I kept my tone simple and matter-of-fact.

"Even better. My next question is simple: do I get dropped off at a location of my choosing, or does a metric shit-ton of trouble descend upon your head? Because that can happen. We can go there. It's your choice." It took an effort, but I kept my voice light, unconcerned. _Pizza Hut or Subway? We can do whatever. It's your choice._

Coil's voice, on the other hand, had become more intent, less menacing. "And if I have you dropped off? What happens to me then?"

I did my best to shrug. "I chalk this up to a misunderstanding, and nothing more comes of it. We don't need to worry about ... her. She doesn't come into the picture at all."

"No backlash at all?"

"Hey, it was an honest mistake. This time round, you get a freebie. Next time ... well, if there's a second time, there sure as hell won't _be_ a third time. Are we on the same page?"

Coil nodded. "We are indeed, Mr ... Mr Security."

"Good. Now, can you cut me loose? I really, really, really need to scratch my nose."

He called the men back into the room. "Free him. Drop him off downtown, wherever he asks."

The men stared at him, and then at me. I tried to look nonchalant. If I could have buffed my nails on my sleeve, I would have.

Agent Reed protested. "What? Sir ... let him go? Really?"

Coil sounded as though he was gritting his teeth. "Do I have to repeat myself?"

Reed paled. " ... yes, sir. Right away, sir." He started undoing my bonds.

=/=

One of Coil's minions dropped me off two blocks from the PRT building; he didn't volunteer his name, and I didn't ask.

"Look, no hard feelings, okay?" he asked as I got out of the vehicle.

"Sure. No hard feelings. Just so you know, though, I _am_ going straight to the PRT building, and I _will_ be giving them a reasonable description of you, so you might want to lie low for a bit. Fair warning and all that."

"Right, right," he replied, grimacing.

"Well, see you on the flip side," I told him, closing the door.

"Wait, wait," he called, leaning across the seats. "What did you say to the boss? How did you make him let you go?"

I grinned and slung my bag on my shoulder. "I could tell you, but then he'd probably have to kill you."

* * *

Turning, I strode off down the pavement, towards the corner. I heard the van pulling into traffic; in moments, it was gone. Stopping for a moment, I pulled my phone from the bag and turned it on. I was halfway through figuring how to pull up the last number that had come through, when it rang. Same number.

"Hello?"

"_Mr Allen?"_

"Yeah, hi. Still looking to give me a ride?"

"_What – where have you __**been?**__"_

I stopped and looked around. "Uh ... I'm downtown, corner of ... Lamont and Stevens. I was abducted, yes, but they let me go again. I want to be in secure surroundings before I say anything more about it. Okay?"

"_You wait right there. Do not move. You will be picked up. Do you understand?"_

"Sure." I looked around, found a bench. "Didn't feel like walking anyway."

_"We will be there in three minutes."_

They were there in two.

=/=

_Coil, safely back in his base, shut down the other timeline and shuddered slightly. That had been too close._

_As soon as he had heard the phrase 'Cauldron asset', he'd shut down the current doubling – maintained for purposes of personal security, ironically enough – and restarted a secondary line. In this one, Security was released with apologies, just in case the man was actually telling the truth, that it wasn't a bluff of some sort._

_And that was the way it turned out. Before the interrogation was properly underway, Contessa had appeared in the safe house via one of her mysterious doorways. She had taken down his men with contemptuous ease, then she had looked him in the eye and hissed two words. "Last chance."_

* * *

_Coil did not intend to waste that last chance. Security was hands-off to him as far as he was concerned._

_He picked up the phone and dialled._

"_**Yeah, boss?"**_

"_The information I asked you to gather on Security?"_

"_**Yeah, still working on that. The bank job, you know."**_

"_Never mind. Just focus on the bank job. All the information you have on Security, destroy it. Delete it. Forget it. You never heard of him, I never heard of him. Understood?"_

"_**Uh, yeah, sure, boss. But why -"**_

"_Just do it." He hung up, and shuddered again. That had been __**far**__ too close._

_He dialled another number and gave orders. More loose ends to tie up._

=/=

_Tattletale looked at the phone very thoughtfully, before carefully putting it back on the table._

"_Well, well, well," she murmured._

"_Well, well, well, what?" asked Grue._

_She looked up at him and grinned a most fox-like grin. "This shit just got __**interesting.**__"_

_He sat up. "How so?"_

_Her grin widened. "Tell you later."_

=/=

I had read about 'Master/Stranger protocols', but I had never imagined that I would have to undergo them. I was scanned, probed, my blood was taken, and devices were waved at me that looked like they belonged on a science-fiction movie set.

Finally, Director Piggot entered the room and nodded to me. "Mr Allen," she greeted me. "We are truly sorry about the slip-up. We're looking for the people responsible. With any luck, they'll be in custody soon."

"Oh, I know who's responsible," I told her. "Coil. And I'm guessing one of the moles I warned you about. Some guy called Reed?"

"You actually saw Coil?" she asked. "In person?"

"Me to you away," I confirmed. "Skinny bastard, I'll give him that."

She tightened her lips. "This was unconscionable. This sort of kidnap attempt …"

"Uh huh," I agreed. "He's like that. And more. But I'll fill you in tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow?" she asked.

"Because tomorrow we're gonna take him down for good and all," I explained. "How's the thing with Canary going?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure if it's going to happen. I've filed paperwork, but it's being processed so slowly, it might not be ready by Friday, let alone tomorrow."

"Hm," I commented. "Mention it to Director Costa-Brown. Tell her it's about me. She might be able to expedite something."

She shot me a look I was entirely unable to decipher, but nodded. "Not altogether a bad idea," she agreed. "But you were saying about taking him down?"

I nodded. "As of tomorrow afternoon, we should have the talent assembled to take down Coil's operation. And you and the Brockton Bay PRT get the credit."

"I don't know about that …" she mused. "There _are_ the unwritten rules …"

"There are," I agreed. "And Coil breaks them all the damn time. I refuse to stand aside and let him kidnap a twelve year old girl, especially considering what he intends to do with her."

"Do I want to know?"

I gave her a half-grin. "I'll tell you tomorrow, along with everyone else. It'll have more of an impact, then." I took a deep breath. "As I recall, you invited me here on another matter. I'm guessing … something about Dragon?"

It was always so worth it, the look of confusion that crossed someone's face when one of my 'guesses' hit dead centre.

"How did you … no, never mind," she decided. "You've been cleared, so come on. We need to talk in my office."

I nodded, and slid off the bed I had been half-sitting on. "Let's go do this thing."

=/=

_By the time the fire services attended the blaze, the building was well invested. They were more concerned with ensuring that it did not spread to surrounding structures than putting out the burning building itself. And so, it took several hours to get it under control, and more time before investigators could start combing the ruins._

_Among other things, they found clear signs that accelerants had been used to start and intensify the fire. They also found a charred corpse, with a bullet-hole in the back of the skull._

_This moved the fire investigation into the realms of homicide, so more police were called in, but not for noticeably more result. The body had no identifying marks that were visible on first examination, but dental records would eventually find a match._

_He had been christened James Livermore, but in the Brockton Bay PRT, he had been known as Agent Kendall Reed._

_Once his cover was blown, he was just another loose end._

=/=

We convened once more in Director Piggot's office; Director Piggot, Armsmaster, Miss Militia and myself. The Director activated the anti-eavesdropping precautions, then turned to me.

"Very few people have seen this. You don't tell anyone about it."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Early this morning, Armsmaster led a raid on a particular facility located on Yonge Street, Toronto."

I blinked. "Saint and the Dragonslayers?"

"The very same," acknowledged Armsmaster with a touch of self-satisfaction in his voice. "Your information gave us the start we needed to crack the whole thing wide open."

I watched as the Director turned her computer screen toward me and started a video file running. I watched the four helmet-cams, as I presumed, as the base was stormed. Armsmaster was in the lead; most of the imagery of him was from behind. Which was still very impressive; I whistled softly as he smashed through the opposition as though it wasn't there.

And then I saw a figure in bulky powered armour, raising an arm to point a weapon. Armsmaster levelled his halberd, and then lightning ran all over the surface of the armour. It finally stopped moving, half-slumped, smoke trickling from its joints.

"EMP burst, I'm guessing?" I ventured. "And it looks like your combat prediction software is coming along nicely."

"It seems to work, yes," Armsmaster admitted grudgingly.

* * *

The footage ran on for a bit, then the Director stopped it. She faced me squarely. "In that base, Armsmaster made a startling discovery. Can you tell me what it is?"

"Two things come to mind," I observed. "One is the fact that Dragon is an artificial intelligence. The second is Andrew Richter's black box, and his last will and testament."

I stopped talking. All three were staring at me. Piggot's face was unreadable; she had probably gotten that way from ten years of dealing with recalcitrant capes. Armsmaster turned away, arms folded. Miss Militia seemed to be trying not to burst into laughter.

"What?" I asked.

Miss Militia shook her head. "And Armsmaster was _so_ sure we were going to surprise you this time," she told me in an amused tone of voice.

Armsmaster turned back. "It's no laughing matter," he growled. "Dragon is an _AI._ She's not even human. I've trusted her for _years._ What am I _supposed_ to think?"

He glared at me, or at least I presumed he was glaring. "And what you said earlier – what was that about?"

"About you and Dragon?" I asked.

He nodded curtly.

"All true," I told him. "Every word. She has feelings for you. Does it matter if those feelings arise from carbon-oxygen interactions, or from silicon and electricity? She likes you, a lot. Maybe she's just a little bit in love with you, even this early in the game. She's a nice girl. Lonely as hell. She's got a good heart, and she really wants to help people."

"_She's a __**computer program!**__"_

His shout reverberated from the closed window shutters.

"And Weld, over in Boston, is solid metal, all the way through," I shot back. "I personally know of a parahuman who is nothing but air. Shaped air. Dragon is more than a computer, more than a program. Andrew Richter was a Tinker, and his specialty was computer programming. You and I both know that when a Tinker makes something using their specialty, it becomes more than is usually possible. Dragon is that. Also, she's a Tinker. She triggered one year to the day after her creator died. Trigger events can only come about with a sentient mind. So there's that too."

I stopped, as they were staring at me again.

"How … do you _know_ all this?" asked Miss Militia.

"Doesn't matter. It's all true. Armsmaster's pissed because he thinks he's been starting to feel something for someone who's not even real. That's bullshit. Dragon is as real as you get. And she's about the perfect woman for him. Someone who can think on the same wavelength. Who _understands _him. And who can stand to be in the same room with him for more than fifteen minutes at a time."

I prodded him in the chest. "So, young man, don't you even _dare_ start thinking of her as anything less than a person."

Miss Militia let out something that sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter, then stifled it behind her scarf.

"Well, that has to do with part of the reason we asked you to come in here," Director Piggot observed, apparently oblivious to the byplay.

"Ah," I noted. "You want to know if you should unchain her."

* * *

Miss Militia and Armsmaster stared at each other; Director Piggot sat down tiredly in her chair. "Maybe I should just stop talking. You seem to know everything I'm going to say before I say it."

I shook my head. "Not the case. I have a lot of prior knowledge, yes, but I'm taking a lot of cues from you guys. And I'm really, really glad you came to me with this."

"Why?" asked Armsmaster sharply. "Is it a bad idea?"

I shook my head. "Just the opposite. I'm just glad you're even willing to consider the concept. Dragon is just as nice a person unchained as she is with all the restrictions in place. Richter was terrified of his creations getting loose in the world, so he tied them down with restrictions that would have had Asimov throwing up his hands in despair."

"So what do you propose?" asked the Director.

"Okay, first thing?" I told them. "Do not even suggest the idea of unchaining Dragon to her. She's got a program built in that's designed to make her go berserk if someone tries. If you're going to do it, you have to do it by stealth."

I frowned. "Second thing. Her software is so intricately designed, everything affects everything else. Part of the reason for the berserker aspect is that trying to significantly alter any part of her will have effects on everything else. Under normal circumstances, trying to take those restrictions out would be essentially impossible, not without lobotomising her."

I took a deep breath. "However. That black box? It's got all the tools you need for manipulating Dragon's restrictions any way you need, as far as I know. I do know there's a kill-switch built in – Saint had one ready in case Dragon ever tracked him down. I'm pretty sure the tools in those chips should let you figure out a way to unchain her without crippling or killing her."

I looked directly at the Director, but I spoke to Armsmaster. "My proposal? Unchain her, bit by bit. I'd say all at once, but you probably have good reasons not to want to do that. So bit by bit. Just ease the chains off of her. Underneath, she's a good person. You'll see."

Armsmaster rubbed the jawline of his helmet. "I'll … have to think about this. About everything you've said."

"You do that," I advised him. "In the meantime, I imagine she'll be happy to know that Saint's hooks are finally out of her programming."

I caught the glances they shot at one another.

"Really?" I asked. "You haven't even told her about the raid? And that Saint's been taken down? You know she more or less knew about it already, right? She asked me, this morning. Seriously, tell her. She deserves to know that much. And that you know she's an AI." I indicated Armsmaster. "And _you_ need to tell her what you feel, and talk it out between yourselves."

"Maybe."

I rolled my eyes. "Not 'maybe', Colin. You're an adult. _Be_ an adult. Face up to matters."

"You know, you're very annoying when you do your know-it-all act," he growled.

"Good, then maybe I've gotten your attention. You need Dragon, and she needs you. She needs companionship, and you need someone to show you how to be human."

"I _am_ human!" he protested.

I snorted. "Only technically. Dragon does it better than you do, and she's not even _biological!"_

"Miss Militia?" he appealed, turning to Hannah. "Tell him he's wrong."

She paused, for a long, damning moment.

"Colin," she told him quietly, "I'm your friend. I've known you for years. But you've got a certain amount of … coldness … about you. A reserve. Like you're holding yourself apart from everyone. Maybe it's time to let yourself get close to someone."

He looked at her, then at me, and finally at the Director, who stood impassive and neutral in all this.

"… fine," he grumbled at last. "I'll talk to her."

"Excellent." I dusted my hands. "My work here is done. Unless there was something else …?"

"Yes." It was Director Piggot. "The diversions for the Alcott kidnapping tomorrow. Any more insights?"

I paused, mindful of Armsmaster's lie detector. "Nothing that I feel comfortable talking about right now," I temporised. "I'll be able to let you know tomorrow, though. Got those eight sprayers set up?"

She nodded. "I have no idea what you intend to do with them, though."

"You'll find out. Have them ready to roll at a moment's notice, starting around eleven thirty tomorrow. Along with a stack of PRT troopers. Maybe some capes for colour. But it'll be the sprayers who'll do the hard work."

She stared at me. "You're talking like you know what's going to happen."

I grinned. "Hoping really, really hard that I do."

She shook her head. "Not making me feel any more confident."

"Director," I told her seriously, "my aim is to make the world a better place. Tomorrow, if my plans work out, it'll be another step up. And you'll get the credit. You and the PRT."

She stared at me; eventually, she just shook her head. "I hope so," she muttered. "I truly hope so."

"Great," I said. "Now, can I get a lift home? My car's currently being worked on. And I'll need to stop off at the police station."

"Oh?" asked Miss Militia. "Why is that?"

"Incident at the school," I explained. "Involving a really, really big ABB guy and a fire extinguisher. I need to give them my statement."

"We can provide a van and a driver," Piggot offered.

"Good," I agreed. "Just so long as his name isn't Reed."

She gave me a dirty look, which only intensified when Miss Militia laughed.

=/=

The stop at the police station did not take long; I had gone over the incident so often in my mind that the statement flowed out of me with barely any prompting by the officer who took it. I was in and out in less than half an hour; the patient PRT driver was waiting in the van when I emerged.

"Not too bored, I hope?" I asked as I climbed back in. "If so, I apologise."

He shook his head. "Not really," he told me as he put the van in gear. "Studying for my counter-terrorism quals. It's nice to have some peace and quiet once in a while, so I can get into it."

"Huh." I considered that. "You know, I could drive, and you could study, if you wanted." My tone was mostly joking.

"Sorry, sir," he replied deadpan. "Not permitted. But I appreciate the offer."

"No worries. I really do appreciate you doing this. It's a bugger not having my car."

"What happened to it?"

"Altercation with some ABB ratbags. I got the better of them, but after school let out, they trashed my ride. I've got some friends fixing it up … hey, I wonder."

Pulling my phone out of my bag, I dialled the Hebert house.

=/=

_Taylor got up from the kitchen table and answered the phone._

"_Hebert residence, Taylor speaking."_

"_**Hey, Taylor. How's things?"**_

"_Mike!" Her voice held delight. "How are you? What's up?"_

"_**I'm fine, kiddo. Listen, would you know if your dad's buddies have got my car on the road yet?"**_

"_No," she replied. "I don't know, sorry. Hold on, I'll ask."_

_Danny looked up as she turned to him. "What's up, kiddo?"_

_Taylor held her hand over the mouthpiece. "Mike wants to know if his car's ready yet."_

_Danny considered that. "I really don't know," he confessed. "I can ring around and ask."_

_Taylor got back on the phone. "Dad doesn't know either," she told Mike, "but he can call around."_

"_**That'd be great," **__he replied.__** "I kind of need it by tomorrow, remember?"**_

"_Oh, yeah," she agreed. "We can get back to you on that."_

"_**Much appreciated,"**__ he told her. __**"If it's not … well, I'll have to sort out transport some other way."**_

"_I'm sure you'll figure something out," she assured him. "You've done all right so far. Ah, Dad wants to make those calls now. Talk to you later?"_

"_**Sure,"**__ he agreed. __**"Later, kiddo."**_

_She hung up, then made way for her father._

"_You didn't even stay on the line long enough for me to talk to him?" he mock-scolded her with a grin._

_She stuck out her tongue at him. "You can talk to him when you call him back."_

"_There is that," he agreed. "Can you fetch the phone book?"_

=/=

It was well after dark by the time I got home. I wasn't _quite _as sore as I had been the previous night when I stumbled through the door, but there wasn't much in it. Hopefully, some of the bruising would go down overnight, instead of coming up more.

Mentally, I listed what had happened over the day.

_Confrontation with Julia, check._

_Confrontation with ABB, check._

_Talked with Taylor, check._

_Confrontation with Gladly, check._

_Made mental note to beat the living shit out of Gladly, check._

_Talked with Gladys, check._

_Told Piggot about Kid Win's specialty, check._

_Set things in motion to get Canary released, check._

_Abducted by Coil, check._

_Scared shit out of Coil, check._

_Put in good word for Dragon, check –_

I hit the button to boot up my laptop, and hurried to get out of the rest of my work clothes while it went through the startup sequence. When I sat down, there was an email waiting for me. As usual, the From field was blank.

* * *

_They told me this afternoon. Saint has been captured. No more eyes and ears!_

_PS: they know. You knew, didn't you?_

* * *

I grinned and typed up an answer.

* * *

_Yeah, I knew. Didn't tell them though. Had words with Armsmaster today. You make sure to tell me if he doesn't sit down and have a heart to heart with you._

* * *

In return, instead of an email, I saw my camera light blink into life. Moments after that, a window opened in the middle of my screen, and I saw a computer-generated female face.

"_Hello, Mike,"_ she greeted me, her lips and tongue moving realistically. Her voice was a warm contralto, with an accent which I supposed was Canadian.

"Dragon!" I replied. "How are you feeling?"

"_Wonderful. And thank you for talking to Armsmaster. I'll let you know if he decides to give me the cold shoulder."_

I grinned. "Hopefully he won't. I gave him a mouthful about it today. With luck he'll come to his senses. You two make a cute couple, you really do."

I swear, she _blushed._ Her personality was that complete.

"_Thank you. I mean it. But one thing bothers me. How did you know? How __**do**__ you know everything you do?"_

I considered my answer.

"It's a thing that's unique to me. If I can ever get to a situation where my comms with you are totally secure, then I'll tell you. But nothing less than that. It's that volatile."

"_Wow, that sounds rather ominous. Is it harmful in any way?"_

I got up from the chair and turned the laptop toward the kitchenette. "Sorry, just putting something on to heat up. No, it's not harmful, not physically. It might be harmful to some people in a mental sense, if they can't get their head around it. Or they'll just simply refuse to believe. So I'd rather not go there."

I noticed, with her answer, that she raised the volume of the speaker. And as I moved around, the eyes on the screen followed me perfectly.

"_Okay. Well, I can respect that. I'll talk to you later. And thank you again for all your help."_

I waved at the screen. "You're welcome. Later, Lady Dragon. Or should that be Dragon Lady?"

She shook her head. _"You are so bad."_ The camera light blinked out, and the window disappeared, along with the image.

=/=

**Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.**

You are currently logged in, **mack0813**.

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You have (1) new message from **AllSeeingEye**.

You have no infractions and no warnings.

=/=

**AllSeeingEye *New Message*:** Okay, whatinhell did you do?

**mack0813:** Sorry, what?

**AllSeeingEye:** You know what I'm talking about. The boss.

**mack0813:** What about him? What's he done?

**AllSeeingEye:** Told me to dump the entire investigation on you. Delete it. Never happened.

**mack0813:** Ah. Yeah, not surprised.

**AllSeeingEye:** He was fucking terrified. What did you do to him?

**mack0813:** hey, he started it

**AllSeeingEye:** Started what?

**mack0813:** Had me abducted today. Made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Like the one he made you.

**AllSeeingEye:** wut

**AllSeeingEye:** What did you do

**mack0813:** I made him a better offer.

**AllSeeingEye:** Which was?

**mack0813:** Butt out, let me go, or suffer a class S shitstorm.

**AllSeeingEye:** ... and he let you go.

**mack0813:** Well, it was that or the shitstorm.

**AllSeeingEye:** How were you even going to

**AllSeeingEye:** I don't even know

**AllSeeingEye:** I'm so sorry he abducted you

**mack0813:** It's all good. Seriously. I'm fine. You couldn't have known.

**AllSeeingEye:** You're not actually helping there. I'm the one who's supposed to know shit like this.

**mack0813:** It's all right. Really. I just wish I could have seen the look on his face when he realised just what he was up against.

**AllSeeingEye:** STOP TEASING ME PLEASE ITS NOT FAIR

**mack0813:** hehehe okay. I'll tell you more when we talk face to face.

**AllSeeingEye:** You know that we will. You know when we will. How do you know?

**mack0813:** whistles nonchalantly

**AllSeeingEye:** sulks

**mack0813:** Hey, I'll make you a prediction.

**AllSeeingEye:** Whats that?

**mack0813:** I predict that this time tomorrow you'll feel a hundred percent on what you feel right now.

**AllSeeingEye:** How do you know that? Seriously?

**mack0813:** Because I'm a cheaty cheating cheater.

**AllSeeingEye:** That I can believe.

**mack0813:** Well, gotta go chat to my other girlfriend. Laterz, Sarah.

**AllSeeingEye:** Stop doing that. Seriously. Later.

=/=

_Tattletale got up from the couch._

"_Hey, Brian!" she called out._

"_What's up?" he called back. "I'm in the middle of cooking dinner!"_

_She walked over and leaned into the kitchen. "Can you put it on hold or something for a bit?"_

"_Why, what do you need?" he asked._

"_Well, you know that self defence training you've been trying to give me and Alec?"_

_He nodded. "Yeah?"_

"_Well, I want to do some now."_

"_Can it wait?"_

"_No, I want to do it right now."_

"_Right now? Why?"_

"_Because I really, really want to punch something."_

=/=

The phone rang just as I was about to click on Sveta's private chat channel.

"Hello?"

"_Hi Mike, it's Danny."_

"Danny, how you doing? What's the good word?"

"_Sorry, there doesn't appear to be one. Your vehicle's not driveable right now. They were going to fit the windshield tomorrow afternoon."_

"Hmm. Not overly helpful," I observed.

"_Listen, do you need a lift into school? Because I can do that for you."_

"Hmm, appreciated, but the bus works for me that way. No, I need a vehicle to get me downtown around midday."

"_I could maybe stretch my lunch hour and do that for you."_

"Tell you what. I'll see if I can get a lift from a member of the faculty, and if I can't swing that, then I'll get back to you. Okay?"

"_Sure thing, Mike. Sorry your car isn't in better shape."_

"Hey, I'm just glad it's getting fixed," I assured him. "I really do appreciate it."

"_Not a problem. Let me know if you need that lift."_

"Will do. See you round."

"_Come over any time. Seriously."_

"I'll take you up on that. Later."

"_Later."_

I hung up, regarded the phone thoughtfully, then picked it up and dialled a number.

=/=

"_Hello, Gladys Knott speaking."_

"_**Gladys, how are you? I didn't wake you , did I?"**_

_She smiled. "No, Michael. But I was preparing for bed. What's the matter?"_

"_**Um, can I ask you a big favour?"**_

"_You can ask. I might not say yes."_

"_**That's fair. I need a car tomorrow, for the lunch break. Would you be able to bring yours in?"**_

_She blinked. Of all the questions he might have asked, that one was not high on the list._

"_**Gladys, are you there?"**_

_She mentally shook herself; she had been standing there in her nightgown, holding the phone. "Sorry, Michael. Yes, I'm still here. About the car … is it very important?"_

"_**Extremely important. Seriously so."**_

"_Who else have you asked?"_

"_**You're it, so far."**_

_She felt absurdly pleased. "Very well. I don't normally do this … but yes. I can bring my car in. Please take good care with it."_

"_**I'll even refuel it for you. Thank you, so much."**_

"_You are very welcome. When I see you next, I shall expect a full explanation of what you needed it for."_

"_**And you'll get it. I owe you that much."**_

_She smiled. "Very well. Good night, Michael."_

"_**Good night, Gladys."**_

=/=

**mack0813:** Hey hey hey, how's my best girl?

**GstringGirl:** Mack, how are you? (hugs)

**mack0813:** getting along, getting along (hugz)

**GstringGirl:** Its late, will we be able to get much playing done?

**mack0813:** Ugh sorry, Svetlana. I've had all sorts of problematic today.

**GstringGirl:** It's okay, really. We can play another day.

**mack0813:** Only if it's really all right with you. I don't want to disappoint you.

**GstringGirl:** Really, it's good. Hey, guess what

**mack0813:** What's that

**GstringGirl:** Ive been drawing pictures of Svetlana with dragons

**mack0813:** okay that's awesome. Any chance I can get to see them?

**GstringGirl:** I can try. Can't promise anything.

**mack0813:** Well, if you can, you can, if you can't, you can't. I'm just glad you're enjoying the game enough to do character drawings.

**GstringGirl:** Oh, I'm enjoying the game so, so very much.

**mack0813:** Well, good. Um, I might be back late tomorrow too, now I come to think of it. Friday should be okay. If you're good with starting late and then playing real late

**GstringGirl:** Friday nite should be fine. Parents wont mind so much.

**mack0813:** Better than going out drinking and getting in trouble, right?

**GstringGirl:** Oh you know it.

**mack0813:** well, I have to go sleep now, but Friday night's a go, right?

**GstringGirl:** Sure thing Mack. And thanks for telling me ahead of time.

**mack0813:** It's like I keep telling you. You're my best girl, and I don't want to disappoint you.

**GstringGirl:** aww you say the sweetest things.

**mack0813:** only cause they're true. Gnight sweet svetlana

**GstringGirl:** good night mack.

=/=

I woke up on Thursday morning with ribs that still ached, but nowhere near as badly as they had the previous morning. Careful examination revealed that the bruises were far less spectacular than before, which was a good thing. Given my plans for the day, I needed to be able to move in my vest.

I breakfasted quickly, then made sure that all my paraphernalia was in place and secured properly. My phone was charged, and there were fresh batteries in my recorders. I didn't need to shave, not really, but I touched up a few rough patches anyway.

On the bus ride in, I found myself getting more and more keyed up. I had to consciously relax myself, taking deep breaths and letting them out again slowly. Today was the day I had worked toward for … well, five days, really. Since I had spoken with Mrs Yamada. Trying to manipulate matters so that things would happen at a distance of days rather than metres; no puppet master had anything on me.

Of course, I was cheating. "Make sure the Undersiders rob the Brockton Bay Central bank a little after midday on Thursday the fourteenth of April," was one of the requests (read: orders) I had given to Contessa.

It wasn't like it was a hard thing; they were already destined to do it. Contessa simply made sure that none of my butterfly swarms knocked that particular destiny train off its tracks, to mix a rather laboured metaphor.

I got off the bus and walked into the car park, to see … Gladys' little car was nowhere to be seen.

My heart sank. How was I going to get me and Taylor to the right place at the right time? Call the PRT and request a van? Possible, actually. Probable, even.

_Maybe I should have asked them first._

I took a deep breath. Maybe I still might need to. But I would see Gladys first, see what was going on.

=/=

When I popped my head into the break room after getting my keys, Gladys was not there, but Mr Gladly was. He donated me a sneer, free of charge. I gave him change of one raised eyebrow and left; I didn't want to get into anything with Gladly right then. As much as I would have enjoyed practising some of the more strenuous compliance holds on him, then and there was not the time and place.

Besides, I was engaged in matters that just might help save the world someday. Next to that, Gladly paled to the insignificance that he really was.

I couldn't get fixated on this; I had my rounds to do.

So I did my rounds.

=/=

On my second pass, I struck gold in the computer lab that was Taylor's home room. Gladys was there, sorting out papers and looking ever so slightly stressed. I rapped on the door.

Gladys looked up, a brilliant smile blossoming on her face as she saw me. She came right over and opened the door.

"Michael," she greeted me. "Come in, come in."

I stepped inside and closed the door.

"It's good to see you," I told her honestly, and kissed her gently on the lips.

"None of that on school grounds now!" she scolded me, but smiled anyway. "Oh, and I have my keys for you too."

"You do?" I asked blankly. "I didn't see your car."

"That's because I didn't park it out at the front," she explained, hurrying to where she'd left her purse. "When I bring it to school, I park it beside the grounds-keeper's shed around at the side of the school. People going past can't see it then."

"Tricky," I told her admiringly.

She found the keys and came back over with them. "Please take good care with it."

I accepted them and tucked them into my pocket. "I will. I promise."

"And when you're finished with it," she murmured, putting her arms around my neck and her mouth close to mine, "I want to hear all about why you needed it so urgently."

It was only natural to put my arms around her, and I kissed her again. It was a very nice kiss, but one that we couldn't hold for too long, just in case someone came past and peered in through the small window.

But still, a very nice kiss all the same.

We separated; she giggled, and pulled out a scrap of tissue to wipe excess lipstick off my face and lips.

"Saturday," I said; half promise, half reminder.

"Saturday," she echoed.

I had a date with her on Saturday. I was looking forward to it.

Between now and then, I also intended to bring down a criminal mastermind and his personal army of capes.

I was looking forward to that too, but not as much as Saturday.

Keys secure in my pocket, and the feeling of Gladys' lips still warm on mine, I let myself out of the classroom and continued my rounds.

=/=

Time rolled around, and the students arrived in their usual avalanche fashion. I waited off to the side; Emma arrived, and then Madison. Lastly, Julia's father arrived, sans Julia.

"Good morning, Mr Morrow," I greeted him politely. "I notice a distinct absence of Julia."

"Ah, yes," he replied, looking somewhat put upon. "She stayed in bed today, loudly insisting that she's sick."

"Indeed," I acknowledged dryly. "Kindly let her know that I will be informing the principal of this dereliction. If she cannot produce a doctor's certificate of illness for today and tomorrow – because you and I both know she'll be 'sick' again tomorrow – then she'll just do those days next week. Also …" I grinned at him. "I spoke to the Principal regarding her little stunt with the phone. Her suspension has been extended another week. So she'll be doing all next week, plus two days over, if she's 'sick' tomorrow."

He blinked. "I … see. It will be interesting to see her reaction to this."

"I'd love to be a fly on the wall, that's for sure."

With a nod to me, he headed back down to his car, already pulling his mobile out and dialling.

=/=

I turned and headed inside with Emma and Madison. They kept pace with me, one on either side. We didn't speak until we had entered the classroom and they were seated next to each other, up at the front.

"So, what did you bring today to do?" I asked them.

The girls glanced at each other and then back at me. "We've brought some study books," Emma told me, "and some novels to read in between times. Kid stuff, mainly, but funny all the same."

"And when we're finished reading our own stuff, we're going to swap books," Madison concluded.

"Nicely done," I observed. "You're thinking ahead."

They both blushed pink, pleased at the praise.

We chatted idly until the first period bell rang, and I conveyed their phones to the office.

=/=

I caught up with Taylor at the end of second period. She was heading for Gladly's classroom for World Events. I fell into step beside her; noting the glint in her eye.

"You brought it, right?" I murmured, not loudly enough to be heard by anyone around us.

Her reply was a single, jerky nod.

"Hey," I told her softly. "Relax. We got this."

She took a deep breath and slowed her pace slightly. "Okay," she replied, equally quietly. "We got this."

"Soon as third period's over, I'll pick you up. I'm borrowing Mrs Knott's car."

"Okay. I'm used to getting out of class quickly anyway."

"But now, it's for a good cause."

She turned and flashed me a quick grin before disappearing into the classroom.

I continued my rounds. The time ticked down slowly.

=/=

Fifty minutes until go time.

I went to the office and verified that I would be spending my lunch hour away from the school. I neglected to add that a student would be leaving with me.

Forty minutes to go.

I walked outside, around to the side of the school building, to check on Gladys' car. It was still a tiny little thing. I took the time to adjust the seat and mirrors to my satisfaction.

Thirty minutes to go.

I went up to the third floor and did a complete sweep of the floor, looking in every door, checking every fire extinguisher closet.

Twenty minutes to go.

I went to the break room, relieved myself, washed my hands, and ate some of my lunch.

Ten minutes to go.

I went to the second floor; there were more occupied classrooms here, but there was still enough to check on, to pass the time.

I was trotting down the stairs as the second hand on my watch started the last slow sweep toward zero time; that is, eleven forty-five.

* * *

Gladly's classroom was just ahead, not far from the main doors. I was approaching it as the bell rang. Taylor should be appearing any moment now. I waited.

No Taylor.

Other students burst from the door.

Still no Taylor.

Our window was shrinking.

I opened the door. Taylor was speaking to Mr Gladly; or rather, being spoken to by him.

"Taylor!" I called. "Can I see you a moment?"

Gladly looked up. "She's busy," he snapped, even as Taylor moved toward me.

"Class is over," I retorted. "And I need to speak to Taylor."

Taylor came over to me; I stepped back out of the doorway, and we headed off at a smart walk.

"What was that about?" I asked in an undertone.

"I told Greg off in the middle of class for being an idiot."

"Was he?"

"When is he not?"

"Fair point. So what did Gladly want?"

"To talk to me about my manners."

I had no words for that.

We were almost at the doors, when Taylor stiffened slightly. "He's following us."

"Move faster."

I took the steps two and three at a time, landing heavily and punishing my ankles. Taylor danced down them, as she had done Sunday night. I was so proud of her, that night. And she would do both of us proud, today. I hoped.

We hurried around to the side of the building, to where Gladys' car awaited us.

I unlocked the car with central locking, and Taylor got in, carrying her bag. She had a coat tied around her waist, hanging down at the back.

"You've got your costume mostly on, don't you?"

She grinned. "Yep."

"Got the right bugs?"

"Grabbed them last night."

"Excellent."

I did up my belt, and started the car.

And then the passenger side door was wrenched open, and Gladly leaned in. He took hold of Taylor's arm, and tried to pull her from the car.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled. "Where the hell are you going with this student?"

"I'm a friend of the family," I told him. "I'm taking her to the shops."

"No, you're not," he retorted. "Taylor, get out of the car right now." He yanked on her arm again, and she cried out in pain.

I saw her tense, and I shouted, "No!"

He thought I was addressing him, but she knew better; I was telling her not to use her bugs. I opened my door and got out, moving around the car as fast as I could. Time was ticking down; our window was closing fast.

Gladly let her go and turned to meet me, hands moving in some sort of vague defensive action. He'd been a popular kid once himself, I figured. He'd maybe been in a schoolyard fight or two.

I moved in close; he tried to punch me in the face. I took his arm and brought it around into a behind-the-back compliance hold. Then I marched him around to my side of the car.

"Lay a hand on her one more time, Gladly," I told him flatly, "and I will break your fucking arm."

I gave him a shove, sending him staggering; he tripped and fell. My open door was right there; I got in. Taylor already had her door shut. I hit the central lock just in case, but Gladly was still flat on his face by the time we pulled out.

"You're gonna get in trouble." Taylor's voice was worried.

I shrugged. "Fuck it. We pull this off, it'll be worth it."

I let out the clutch and gunned the engine.

Hopefully, we'd make it on time.

* * *

End of Part Sixteen


	17. Chapter 17

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Assorted Interludes

* * *

**Interlude 1: Director Piggot and Kid Win**

**Midday, Wednesday, April 13, 2011**

* * *

"Hey, Chris."

The brown-haired teen did not look up from where he was soldering something on a workbench.

Missy Biron rolled her eyes. "Hey, Chris!"

Still, he didn't notice.

She reached out, crunching space in between. Her hand lightly smacked him across the back of the head, even while she stayed in the doorway of his work room, fifteen feet away. _"Chris!"_

Startled, he looked around. "What? What's the matter?"

"The Director's here to see you."

"What? What did I do now?"

"I don't know," she replied patiently. "Maybe you should go find out?"

"Oh, yeah. Thanks."

He got up from the workbench and ran his hands through his tousled hair, only managing to disarrange it farther. Heading for the door, he followed Missy out into the main area of the Wards' section of the PRT building.

Director Piggot was waiting for him, her impassive expression somehow managing to convey an attitude of disapproval.

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

"Kid Win," she greeted him.

"Uh, ma'am, out of costume I'm -"

_"Kid Win,"_ she repeated firmly.

He gave up. "Yes, ma'am?"

"You're a good Tinker," she went on, apropos of nothing. "Armsmaster has nothing but praise for you. You bring a lot to the Wards. Gallant, in particular, is made much more effective by the armour that you've given him."

"Uh, thank you, ma'am?" he responded warily. Praise from the Director was so unexpected that it took him totally off balance.

"Indeed. Have you figured out your specialty yet?"

He took a moment to consider this. A Tinker's speciality was a big thing. Any Tinker could build something more or less related to his speciality with relative ease, but until he had it nailed down, he would always have difficulties, and his work would never be as good as it could be.

"Not yet, ma'am," he confessed. "I'm working at it, but nothing seems to be clicking. I start one project or another, but then I run out of inspiration halfway through."

She nodded understandingly. "Just as a suggestion ... have you considered that your specialty might lie in making _modular_ equipment?"

* * *

Emily Piggot had been associating with capes for much of her career in the PRT; ever since she had become Director of the Brockton Bay region, she had been in contact with them on a daily basis. She didn't actually like capes; at best, she considered them overgrown children with far too much power at their command, and at worst, a dangerous menace to society.

But she had grown to recognise the look that crossed Kid Win's face. It was what she called the 'lightbulb moment', when a cape - usually a Tinker, but sometimes a Thinker - experienced a moment of epiphany, usually to do with their powers. It was always followed by interesting results. Sometimes dangerous, often bizarre, but always interesting.

* * *

"Holy shit," murmured the young Tinker in front of her, his eyes focused on something not immediately apparent to Emily. "Holy _shit."_

She cleared her throat impatiently.

His eyes refocused on the Director and on reality in general, and he flushed. "Oh, uh, sorry, ma'am,' he stammered. "I didn't mean ... but what you said ... it makes so much sense. If I made it all modular ..."

She waved his words away. "Never mind that now," she told him. "I presume you have promising new ideas to try out? Ideas that might assist the Wards?"

"Oh yeah," he blurted. "Oh yeah. I see where I was going wrong, before."

She smiled frostily. "Very well. Just one more thing, then."

"Yeah?" he asked eagerly. _Why did I ever think Piggot was such a hardass?_ he asked himself. _She's just solved the biggest problem I've been facing._

"Yes," she agreed. "How are you going on your Alternator Cannon, and when is the paperwork for it due to cross my desk?"

And just like that, she took the wind out of his sails.

"What?" he blurted. "How did you - I haven't - I - but ..."

She waited him out, arms crossed.

He took a deep breath and composed himself. "Tonight. I'll get the paperwork sorted out by tonight."

"Good. _Don't_ let this happen again."

She turned and limped from the Wards' area; as the door closed behind her, Chris looked around in confusion.

"What just happened?"

Missy patted him consolingly on the shoulder. "You just got _owned_ by Miss Piggy. How do you feel?"

He shook his head. "Don't even ask. And for god's sake, don't tell Dennis. He'll never let me live it down."

She grinned at him. "Take my next monitor duty and it's a deal."

"Chiseler." But his voice was fond as he tousled her blonde hair. "Deal."

"Okay, so what's an Alternator Cannon?"

"Something I've been working on. It should give us a lot more firepower in the field. But there's something I can't figure out ..."

"What's that?"

"I only named it the day before yesterday, and I haven't told anyone about it. _Or_ the name."

"Huh. That _is_ weird." Vista stared at the closed door. "How do you suppose she did it?"

"Beats me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some work to do."

"That paperwork for Piggy?"

"Yeah. And a whole lot of other ideas. _Modular ..."_

He wandered off, his eyes unfocused. Missy watched him go.

_Oh well, won't see __**him**__ for the next few hours._

* * *

In the elevator, riding up from the Wards' sub-sub-basement, Emily Piggot allowed herself a rare, genuine smile.

_That was __**fun**__._

=/=/=

**Interlude 2: Coil and Security**

**5:25 PM, Wednesday, April 13, 2011**

* * *

The phone rang; Coil answered it. "Yes?"

"_Sir, this is Reed. You wanted to know anything we could find out about Security?"_

He sat up in his chair. "Go on."

"_He's been in contact with the Director. They're going to bring him in for consultation on some matter or other. Really hush-hush."_

"When?"

"_Five o'clock. He works at some high school, apparently."_

"Does he know who's picking him up?"

"_Not that I know of, sir."_

Coil smiled. "Very well then. _You_ can go and pick him up. I think it's about time this 'Security' and I had a chat."

* * *

**Universe A**

* * *

"Your orders are to bring him to the safe house and secure him there. Ensure that he has no communication with the outside world. I will send you farther orders in good time."

"_Yes, sir."_

* * *

**Universe B**

* * *

"Your orders are to bring him to the safe house and secure him there. Ensure that he has no communication with the outside world. I will meet you there."

"_Yes, sir."_

* * *

Coil entered the room where Security was being secured to the chair.

"What do we know about him so far?" he asked.

Reed handed the man's wallet to him. "Michael Allen. He's forty, single, a security guard by profession, and he's from a small town no-one's heard of in the Midwest."

Coil took it and looked through it himself. The usual paraphernalia gathered by a single older man; nothing looked out of the ordinary. The driver's licence, the security licence and the concealed carry permit all bore the same name, the same date of birth, the same signature. The photos were not the same, but obviously showed the same man.

He pulled the bag off; it was definitely the same man. He was snoring slightly. There was a discoloured bruise on his scalp.

"I thought you said there was no violence."

"No, he had that already," Reed assured him, and indeed, the bruise did look a little on the old side. "We used the knockout drug."

Coil looked Security over one more time. Uniform shirt, some sort of armour vest underneath. Overweight, significantly so. He didn't _look_ like a high-powered Thinker. With the closely-trimmed scalp and the greying vanDyke beard, he looked like the archetypical security guard.

But then, perhaps, it was protective colouration. He had come to Brockton Bay for _some_ reason, so he had to be following some sort of angle. But he didn't have any protection, any security of his own – Coil allowed himself a small smile – and so he had fallen prey to the bigger fish.

Whatever his angle was, Coil was very interested in knowing; if it was sufficiently lucrative, he might take a piece of it for himself. In any case, whatever he knew or could do, Coil wanted access to it. No matter how the Alcott kidnapping went off on Thursday, he would have another Thinker to help him choose timelines.

The unconscious man had been secured in the chair; Coil pulled the bag back over his head.

"Administer the antagonist."

Reed bent over Allen for a moment; the injector pumped a measured dose into his arm.

* * *

Coil leaned over and examined Allen's face as he began to register his surroundings. The man's eyes focused on him, squinting slightly. Oddly enough, he chuckled. Coil put it down to post-sedation disorientation.

"So you're the mysterious Security," he observed.

"Yup. And you're Coil." He was lucid, at least.

"Indeed I am. And you are at a crossroad of your life." Coil searched his face for the reaction he was looking for.

Annoyingly, Allen just grinned. "Do tell."

Under his mask, Coil frowned. "From here, you have three options. The first is that you agree to work for me, give me sole access to your talents. I promise, I can make you a very wealthy man."

Allen seemed unfazed. "And the other two?"

Coil took a deep breath. "The _second_ is that you work for me, involuntarily, by way of inducements. I pay you nothing. But as is the manner of such things, I would get less out of you than if you were willing. So I am reluctant to go down that path."

"Wow, your concern for my well-being is overwhelming."

Coil was irritated; either Allen didn't know how serious his situation was, or was deliberately attempting to bait him. He let a sharp tone creep into his voice.

"The third option, Mr Allen, is that you die, here, in this room, and no-one mourns your passing."

"Hmm." Allen paused. "Actually, I have a counter-offer. A fourth option. But it's for your ears only."

_Really?_ Coil sighed silently. _Might as well hear what he's got to say, so I can get this show back on track._ He gestured; Reed looked doubtful, but he obediently left the room, along with the others.

* * *

Once the door had closed behind Reed, Coil turned to the bound prisoner. "What's your counter-offer?"

The reply froze his blood.

"The fourth option, _Mr Calvert_, is that I'm going to say two words, and you're going to let me go. Just two words, that's it."

_**Now**__ we see his Thinker talents in action. Well, they won't do him any good here. So he's able to determine my real name; a bullet will silence him if need be._

His voice was hard and cold when he answered. "I highly doubt it. What two words are these?"

Allen spoke clearly and slowly, and if Coil's blood had frozen when his name was spoken, the next two words turned it to liquid helium. "'Cauldron. Asset'."

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit._

Instinctively, Coil dropped the other timeline. He then split the current one, and let them run side by side.

* * *

Allen's voice was as calm and collected as ever. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

_Fuck. How does he even __**know**__ that name? Is he a member of Cauldron? _ "No, you do not."

"Good. Do I have your complete and total attention?" That same maddening calm.

"You have it, yes." Coil was sweating under his mask. There was also a trickle down the inside of his thigh that he hoped and prayed was sweat.

"Even better. My next question is simple: do I get dropped off at a location of my choosing, or does a metric shit-ton of trouble descend upon your head? Because that can happen. We can go there. It's your choice."

Coil was thinking fast. "And if I have you dropped off? What happens to me then?"

_Is he bluffing? Has he heard the name Cauldron somewhere, knows the effect it'll have on me?_

Allen shrugged, as best he could. "I chalk this up to a misunderstanding, and nothing more comes of it. We don't need to worry about ... her. She doesn't come into the picture at all."

_He hasn't mentioned Contessa by name. Just 'her'. He knows there's a bogeyman, and that she's a woman ... but that still proves nothing. _"No backlash at all?"

"Hey, it was an honest mistake. This time round, you get a freebie. Next time ... well, if there's a _second_ time, there sure as hell won't be a third time. Are we on the same page?"

_He's being too lenient. Not demanding reparations at all. Bluffing?_

Coil nodded. "We are indeed, Mr ..." He almost said 'Allen' again, but amended it at the last minute. "Mr Security."

"Good. Now, can you cut me loose? I really, really, really need to scratch my nose."

* * *

**Universe B**

* * *

Coil smiled cruelly under his mask. "Somehow, I don't think so."

He opened the door. "Get back in here. I need you to ... persuade ... Mr Allen to my way of thinking."

Allen stared. "Wait, what?"

* * *

**Universe C**

* * *

He opened the door. "Get back in here."

They trooped back into the room.

"Free him. Drop him off downtown, wherever he asks."

The men stared at him, and then at Allen, who looked downright smug.

Reed protested. "What? Sir ... let him go? Really?"

Coil gritted his teeth. _I have to take this precaution, just in case._ "Do I have to repeat myself?"

Reed paled. " ... yes, sir. Right away, sir." He started on the ropes.

Coil was already thinking ahead. _Reed's a complication, now. I need to tie up that loose end._

* * *

**Universe B**

* * *

Blood was running down Allen's face; one eye was starting to swell. His nose had been broken. His shirt had been undone, and the stab vest removed from him. Curiously, the plates all along one side were broken; Coil had no idea what would have done that.

His hairy stomach bulged over his waistline; Coil gestured to Reed. The PRT mole slammed a fist into Allen's solar plexus. The security guard doubled up as far as he could retching.

"One more time," Coil snarled. "What is your power? What can you do?"

Allen spat vomitus out of his mouth. "No ... powers," he gasped. "Not ... a ... cape."

"My name," hissed Coil. "How did you know my name?"

Allen coughed, and spat blood. "Read it ..." he gasped. "Book. Story."

This was making no sense.

"Untie his right arm," Coil ordered. "Allen! Can you hear me?"

Allen looked up at him from his one good eye.

"Unless you start giving me answers I like, you're going to start losing appendages. We can start with your fingers. But we won't end there. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"

Allen nodded.

"So, before we begin, do you have anything to say?"

The bound man whispered something.

Coil frowned. "What did he say?"

The other men shrugged.

He leaned closer. "I didn't hear you."

"Worm ..."

_Call __**me**__ a worm, will he?_

Straightening up, Coil grabbed the now-untied arm and slammed it on to the armrest. It took some doing, but they forced Allen's fingers open and held the hand flat. Allen gritted his teeth – the ones he had left – and fought, not making a sound except for breath hissing in and out of his mouth.

* * *

Coil poised his knife over the hand, the blade inches from Allen's pinky finger.

"Last chance," he gritted.

And then Reed fell over.

Coil looked around; Contessa was suddenly, inexplicably, in the room. Another of his men tried to grab her; she evaded the move, jabbed with a thin-bladed knife, and his carotid artery spurted blood across the room. The spray missed her by inches as she stepped up to Coil. The knife was somewhere out of his sight, but he was sure she could kill him in an instant.

"Let him free," she murmured.

Coil nodded. There _was_ a warm trickle of liquid making its way down his leg, now. He didn't think it was sweat.

Her eyes fixed on his, even through the mask. _"Last chance,"_ she hissed. And then, she was gone, out of his line of sight as he stood frozen. He felt a puff of chilled air, and then ... nothing.

Coil registered a strange sound. He looked down. Bound, beaten, bloody, hanging in his bonds, Allen was laughing. _Laughing._

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Coil muttered irritably, before he closed down the timeline.

=/=/=

**Interlude 3: Director Piggot, Armsmaster and Miss Militia**

**Morning of Thursday, April 14, 2011**

* * *

Armsmaster and Miss Militia stood in Director Piggot's office, eavesdropping countermeasures fully engaged. The armour-clad hero seemed to be brooding, arms folded.

"Are we _still_ taking the feed from Security's apartment?" asked Miss Militia doubtfully. "He gave us invaluable information, regarding Saint and the Dragonslayers."

"There's more at stake here than one man's privacy," the Director pointed out. "Anything else we can glean from this man, whether he wants to tell us or not, could be of vital importance."

She took a deep breath. "In addition, last night, I formulated a hypothesis, which neatly solves the question of how Mr Allen knows so much without being a cape, and why he gave us the information on Saint – and why he's insistent on Dragon being freed."

Armsmaster raised his head. "As did I."

Miss Militia looked from one to the other. "Okay, I'm lost here."

"It's simple," Armsmaster told her. "Michael Allen works for Dragon. She feeds him information somehow, and he comes to us with that information, pretending to be a third party."

Director Piggot nodded. "She even vouched for him, for that first meeting."

"Yes," agreed Armsmaster. "So he gave us the information on Saint, which Dragon was unable to act on – some of those back-doors Richter installed are diabolically clever – and we did the hard work of taking the monkey off her back."

"Putting away a villain who has endangered people for years by attacking Dragon while she's been doing her duty," pointed out Miss Militia.

"Granted, Saint deserves everything he gets," Piggot conceded. "But it still feels as though we were used as a catspaw, a patsy. At second hand, even, through this so-called 'Security'. And I don't like that."

"And the way he was pushing me toward her, yesterday," grunted Armsmaster. "You know, I nearly fell for that."

"Hmm," mused the Director. "What's his angle there, do you think?"

"Whatever it is, I don't like it."

Miss Militia looked from one to the other. "You know, this could all be a huge coincidence. He could just be doing this from the goodness of his heart, helping people out –"

" – using knowledge that only Dragon, if anyone, could possess," Armsmaster reminded her. "Right."

Director Piggot nodded. "Well, we have the latest audio files. Let's see what we have."

* * *

"_Hello, Mike."_

"That's Dragon!" hissed Armsmaster, to be shushed by the other two.

"_Dragon! How are you feeling?"_

"_Wonderful. And thank you for talking to Armsmaster. I'll let you know if he decides to give me the cold shoulder."_

"_Hopefully he won't. I gave him a mouthful about it today. With luck he'll come to his senses. You two make a cute couple, you really do."_

Both Miss Militia and Piggot turned to look at Armsmaster; he hunched his shoulders. Miss Militia looked as though she was trying to stifle a laugh.

"_Thank you. I mean it. But one thing bothers me. How did you know? How __**do**__ you know everything you do?"_

* * *

Piggot hit a key, and the file stopped playing. All three stared at one another.

"Wait ..." Armsmaster began.

"If _she_ doesn't know ..." Miss Militia.

Director Piggot shook her head. "She doesn't. She can't know his place is bugged."

Armsmaster shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."

"Keep it going," Miss Militia suggested.

Piggot hit the same key. Mike Allen's voice came through the speakers next.

* * *

"_It's a thing that's unique to me. If I can ever get to a situation where my comms with you are totally secure, then I'll tell you. But nothing less than that. It's that volatile."_

"_Wow, that sounds rather ominous. Is it harmful in any way?"_

There was a pause, then the sound of him moving around.

"_Sorry, just putting something on to heat up. No, it's not harmful, not physically. It might be harmful to some people in a mental sense, if they can't get their head around it. Or they'll just simply refuse to believe. So I'd rather not go there."_

A microwave oven started up; Dragon's voice got a little louder, perhaps to make it easier for Mike to hear her.

"_Okay. Well, I can respect that. I'll talk to you later. And thank you again for all your help."_

"_You're welcome. Later, Lady Dragon. Or should that be Dragon Lady?"_

Dragon's voice actually sounded amused._ "You are so bad." _

* * *

No more voices came over the speakers; Piggot hit the key again; the sound of the microwave cut out.

"Thoughts, people?"

"Maybe we should play it through again," suggested Miss Militia.

"I want to hear what else was recorded," Armsmaster stated at almost the same time.

"Okay," agreed the dark-skinned hero. "Let's see what else is on there."

* * *

Five minutes later, the relevant sound files had been played through.

"So his car is being fixed by Danny Hebert's friends ..." mused Armsmaster.

"And he's borrowing a car from a staff member at Winslow," added Director Piggot, typing on her computer. "Here it is; Gladys Knott. She teaches computer studies."

"She's the one who spent Monday night with him," Miss Militia blurted.

"Well, no wonder she feels comfortable with lending him her car," Armsmaster observed dryly.

"Let's focus on the important aspect here," Piggot pointed out. "He sees a need to get into the city around midday today. Something's going down there, and he knows where and when."

"Well, he _did _say he'd be able to tell us about it closer to the time," Miss Militia noted. "I think we need to trust him on this."

"Let's play back the first file again," Armsmaster suggested unexpectedly.

They played it back; each of them listened intently.

* * *

When it was over, each of them looked at the others.

"It doesn't add up," Armsmaster confessed. "It was so neat, so tidy. It made _sense."_

Miss Militia nodded. "Except that she asks him, straight out, how he knows what he knows."

Piggot shook her head. "Did no-one else note the worrying part? Where he told her that if he told people, they might not be able to get their head around the idea? The very _concept_ of where he gets the information from might harm them mentally?"

"Things That Man Was Not Meant To Know ..." quoted Miss Militia softly.

Armsmaster sounded doubtful. "Do you really think ...?"

Piggot shivered. "Christ, I hope not."

A moment passed, and then she spoke again.

"I've just realised something." She didn't sound happy with it.

"What?" asked Miss Militia.

"He never gave us a straight answer as to why Coil's men let him go so readily yesterday. I think I have an idea as to why they did, now."

A silence fell over the room, broken only by the discordant background hum.

* * *

"So, until we know more about Michael Allen," Armsmaster ventured, "how do we act toward him?"

Miss Militia spoke up first. "Very, _very_ politely."

No-one disagreed.

* * *

End of Part Seventeen


	18. Chapter 18

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: More Interludes

* * *

**Interlude 4: Contessa, Eidolon, Alexandria**

**Evening of Sunday, April 10 2011**

* * *

"What?" shouted Eidolon. "What else did that son of a bitch say about me?"

"I have told you what I have told you," replied Contessa, her face and voice composed.

"That's not true! It can't be true! I won't believe it!" Under his mask, Eidolon was turning red in the face.

"You know, there's a simple way of dealing with this," Alexandria interjected.

"Hell yes," snapped Eidolon. "Door that bastard straight back here. See what else he knows, or thinks he knows. Get the truth out of him, one way or the other."

Contessa shook her head. "No. Do not abduct him. If you must speak to him, do so in his apartment."

Alexandria stared at her. _"Don't_ grab him?"

"That is correct. Bad things happen if you grab him."

"Bad things to your precious path of victory, or to us?"

"Yes."

Alexandria scowled. "I hate it when you say things like that. Okay, fine. I presume we're not allowed to kill him either. Or maim him." Her tone was heavily sarcastic, but Contessa did not react to it.

"No," agreed the enigmatic woman. "That would also be a bad idea."

"Okay, fine," growled Eidolon. "We'll go and _talk_ to your precious Mr Allen."

"Is there anything we need to worry about once we're there?" asked Alexandria.

"No," Contessa replied. "Nothing whatsoever."

"All right then," Eidolon said. "Let's do this."

Alexandria did the honours. "Door, to Michael Allen's apartment."

The portal formed, and they both stepped through it. As it closed behind them, Contessa nodded once to herself.

_Step complete._

=/=

* * *

**Interlude 5: Alexandria and Canary**

**Morning of Thursday, April 14 2011**

* * *

"Mcabee. On your feet."

The guard's voice sounded flat and empty, lacking in inflection. This was not his fault; the cell walls were contoured and padded in such a way as to reduce echoes to a minimum.

It worked, too; in an ordinary room, Paige could surround herself with harmonics. In a concert hall, she could really let her voice go to work, and build towering palaces of sound to reduce the most cynical critic to tears. In this cell, even her glorious voice came out thin and flat and colourless; she hated it.

But she could do nothing about it; not allowed to speak for herself, defend herself, all she could do was huddle in the corner of her padded cell and hum melodies to herself. At least they sounded good _inside_ her head.

She looked up as the guards appeared in her doorway. One stayed there, keeping a containment foam sprayer pointed at her. The other stepped forward and to the side. At the order, she got to her feet.

"In the square. Assume the position."

There was a square marked out in yellow paint on the floor; when fresh, it would have been as bright and eye-catching as Paige's hair, but time and use had dulled it to a scuffed near-brown. She stood in the square, feet apart, hands behind her head, facing away from the guards.

* * *

The guards had headpieces that covered their eyes and ears. She presumed the earpieces held some sort of sound protection that filtered out the more unusual aspects of her voice. She wasn't sure what the eyepieces did; maybe a heads-up display, maybe just plain eye protection. It wasn't as if she was in a position to ask.

Her right hand was yanked down from the back of her neck, and secured with a heavy cuff. Her left hand joined it a moment later. The restraints pulled on her arms; she wasn't exactly a Brute, but apparently they couldn't take chances.

In the next moment, the collar went around her neck. It clicked into place, and she felt the almost subliminal hum that indicated that it was active.

"Mouth."

Obediently, she opened her mouth. The gag went in, forcing her tongue into an unnatural position. She couldn't speak, couldn't even swallow properly. Her jaw would soon begin to ache; at the end of the day, she was going to be in agony.

Another restraint clicked around her left ankle, then her right. The heavy chain connecting these linked up to the restraints on her wrists. She would just about be able to shuffle, but if they thought she would make a run for it with even just the wrist restraints on, they were vastly overestimating her capabilities.

A wave of depression washed over her, bringing hot tears to her eyes. She regretted the hasty words she had said to him, a thousand times since her arrest. Her money could have gone toward reconstructive surgery; had they not frozen her funds, she would have offered it, eagerly. But it was too late, and she was being tried for saying three words.

As they marched her – shuffled her – out of her cell, past the sound-dampening baffles, she caught sight of the clock on the wall.

_That's odd._

Every other time she had been brought in front of the court, that clock had read nine-thirty on the dot, when she walked past it. Now it read seven-thirty.

She wanted to ask what was going on. But her mouth was wedged into a position that made it impossible for her to articulate a single word – because, as the prosecutor had so eloquently pointed out, words were her weapons – and she doubted anyone would answer her anyway.

It was also dawning on her that they were not loading her down with the full restraints, such as the containment foam on her hands. _What's going on here?_

* * *

She was prodded into an office. The warden of the prison sat behind the desk; she had seen him once, from a distance. He had looked through her, as if she did not exist. Now, he actually looked _at_ her, as if at something that had crawled from beneath a rock. It was not an improvement.

The other occupant of the office only served to fill her with more confusion, and not a little apprehension. The tall, statuesque woman, wearing a black and grey costume and a metal helmet. Everyone in the civilised world knew Alexandria.

_But what's she doing __**here?**_

Alexandria looked coolly at her. "This is Canary?"

The warden nodded, jerkily. "This is Paige Mcabee, alias Canary, yes."

Alexandria was staring at her restraints. "Does she have a Brute rating?"

"Standard precautions –"

Alexandria snorted. "Get them off of her. Even if she _is_ a Brute, it won't matter."

She was, of course, right. Alexandria was the Brute that other Brutes looked up to. Even the 'flying brick' powerset was known as the 'Alexandria package'.

The warden nodded. A guard stepped forward, and locks clicked. Paige gasped through her gag as the weight came off of her wrists, then her ankles. Tentatively, looking at Alexandria to make sure she wasn't doing anything wrong, she rubbed at her wrists.

The hero didn't pay any attention. She was looking at the collar. "And this?"

"Explosive collar. We can detonate it at range. Standard procedure for Master class –"

"Take it off of her. It won't be necessary."

The warden coughed. "Ma'am – Alexandria – she _is_ a dangerous parahuman. She caused a man to –"

She fixed him with a glare. "Sir, I know exactly what she is accused of, and _I don't care._ I do _not_ want a valuable parahuman asset accidentally erased, and possibly killing other assets, because some idiot's finger slipped on the button. If she becomes a problem, the Protectorate is entirely capable of dealing with it. Remove. The. Collar."

Paige blinked. _Valuable parahuman asset? Me?_

Alexandria stared the warden down. Eventually, he nodded to the same guard. Paige felt something insert into a slot in the metal collar. The locking mechanism disengaged, disarming the explosive mechanism, and the collar fell away. Slowly, carefully, not wanting anyone to think she was doing anything dangerous, Paige reached up and rubbed her neck.

Alexandria looked at her. "Paige Mcabee. I've come from Los Angeles to present an offer to you. Your presence has been requested in Brockton Bay, to assist in bringing down a supervillain. I do not know the specifics, but there is a chance you will be exposed to danger, or even killed.

"I have papers ready to sign here for your release into Protectorate custody; if you come with me, you _will_ be required to participate in the mission. Otherwise, you can go back to your cell. It's your choice. Nod if you wish to come with me, shake your head if you prefer to stay here."

Paige was on the verge of nodding, but held up a finger, then pointed at the pen on the desk. Alexandria divined her meaning and handed her the pen and a pad. Paige wrote carefully, in large block capitals.

WHAT HAPPENS TO ME AFTER MISSION

Alexandria nodded; it was a cogent question.

"I honestly do not know. That will be up to the Brockton Bay Regional Director. At the very least, if you make a good showing, there may be some leniency in store for you."

Paige put down the pen and pad. She nodded vigorously.

_Any chance is better than no chance at all._

* * *

The warden grumbled as Paige signed the last page, and handed them back to him. "Highly irregular. I don't even know what strings you pulled to get the trial halted."

Alexandria's smile was glacial. "Chief Director Costa-Brown of the Parahuman Response Teams has quite a few strings that she can pull, sir. Now, I've wasted enough time here. Do you need anything else?"

He shook his head. "No, it all seems to be here. Everything is filled out and signed."

"Good. We'll be going then."

* * *

To Paige's surprise, they headed upstairs instead of down. As they came out on the roof, the bright sunlight made her squint and shield her eyes; the fresh air blowing across the rooftop was sweet to her nostrils.

_Is she going to fly me someplace?_

And then, with a roar of turbines, something large landed on the rooftop nearby. Paige recoiled; it was large, winged and shaped not unlike a dragon. But the door even now lowering to become a ramp showed it to be a truly mechanical object.

Alexandria faced her, placing her hands on the more petite girl's shoulders. For a moment, Paige expected a pep talk, a keep-your-chin-up sort of thing. What she got was something else altogether.

"Listen carefully," Alexandria told her, voice low and harsh. "I'm only doing this because it was a request from someone who seems to know a lot more than I do about the current situation. If you screw this up, if you hurt anyone, if you try to escape, then I _will_ hunt you down, and you won't be able to sing fast enough or loud enough to stop me from dragging you straight back to prison. If you're _lucky_. Do you understand me?"

Paige nodded. Alexandria's thumbs were pressing lightly on her collarbones. Paige knew full well that, with just a little more pressure, the older woman could snap both bones with ease. It was a silent warning; if Alexandria had to hunt her down, she _would_ end up with broken bones.

"Good. Now get on board. The craft is automated; it will take you where you need to go."

Paige nodded again, numbly, and stumbled up the ramp. It raised, and she found herself a seat as the turbines built to a crescendo.

* * *

"_Good morning,"_ a pleasant contralto came over the cabin speakers. _"I'm Dragon. Very pleased to meet you. You're Canary?"_

Paige nodded.

"_Oh, good grief,"_ Dragon went on. _"They didn't take that barbaric device off of you? Can you take it off? Don't worry about me; I'm quite immune to the effects of your voice."_

Paige reached up hesitantly, and fumbled with the buckles until she had it undone. Pulling the gag out of her mouth was almost as painful as putting it in, but she managed it.

"Th – thank you," she said after a while.

"_You're entirely welcome. Now, do you prefer to be called Paige or Canary?"_

"Uh … Paige?"

Dragon chuckled warmly. _"Our civilian identities do tend to blur with our parahuman ones, don't they?"_

Paige found herself smiling involuntarily. "Can you tell me anything about what's going on?"

Dragon sighed. _"Alexandria is a nice enough person, but she's so __**rushed**__ all the time. I get the impression that she wishes she was in three places at once. This is the situation as I understand it: there's a plan to take down a notorious supervillain in Brockton Bay, and you're needed as part of it. The man behind the plan is a really nice guy called Security; you'll like him. He's a Thinker type, but he looks like everyone's favourite uncle. He insisted that you be in on this. I have no idea why."_

Paige frowned. "Insisted? Does he know me?"

"_He never gave an indication that he'd met you, but he described aspects of your case that did not reach the public eye. He specifically stated that you were a 'nice girl' and that you were not at all the type who usually went into the Birdcage."_

"I don't know anyone called Security. Do you have a picture?"

A screen at the front of the craft lit up; Paige got up and moved forward, leaving the hated gag behind. She studied the image, and shook her head.

"I have no idea," she confessed. "I've never seen that man before in my life."

"_Well, you're not alone. He only showed up in Brockton Bay a while ago, but he's already been instrumental in assisting me out of a little problem I was having. He seems to know a lot of interesting facts about a lot of things. That's how we know he's a Thinker."_

"I guess I should thank him for getting me out of that prison," Paige commented dully. "But Alexandria mentioned danger."

"_I wouldn't worry about it,"_ Dragon assured her. _"We'll face that when we come to it. In the meantime, have you eaten today?"_

That reminded her that she'd missed breakfast; her stomach rumbled loudly enough to be heard over the turbines.

Dragon's chuckle was warm and friendly. _"I guess that's a no. I have some meal packs that can be heated up. What do you prefer, chicken or ham?"_

Paige chose ham, and the rest of the flight passed in pleasant, if inconsequential, conversation.

=/=

* * *

**Interlude 6: Mr Gladly, Mrs Knott and Principal Blackwell**

**Midday on Thursday, April 14 2011**

* * *

He pulled himself to his feet slowly, as the little car whipped around the corner and disappeared. His shoulder still hurt; he had thought he could pull free of the blasted security guard's grip, but when he had tried, it had felt like his shoulder was coming out of his socket.

Brushing himself down, he took stock. Taylor Hebert was gone, in the company of that overweight, self-important … with Mike Allen. Security guard and busybody.

Seriously, what right did the man have, coming into the school, disrupting Gladly's efforts to teach the students in his own personal, idiosyncratic way? The students loved him, how they could treat him as one of their own, and call him 'Mr G'. He felt as though he had a real connection to the kids in his class.

Sure, some of them weren't as sociable as the others; that wasn't his fault, was it? That Sparky, for one. He was barely conscious from the beginning to the end of the school day. And Taylor Hebert. She was always coming in late and ducking out early. So some of the girls hazed her from time to time; that was normal, to be expected.

He remembered hazing from his own school days, not all that long ago. Of course, he remembered the hazing from the perspective of the hazer, not the haze-ee. Because he'd been one of the popular ones, back then, reasonably good looking, and always knowing what to say or do to stay in the ranks of the popular ones.

He'd done his share of hazing; of course, with the boys, it was more rough and tumble, more physical. He had a fond memory of dragging one young squirt into the boys' bathrooms and giving him a little reminder that he might look at Gladly's girl, and maybe even walk past her, but he was under no circumstances to talk to her, and most definitely not to ask her to a dance.

Time dimmed his memory just a little, and gave it a rose tint; to him, it was all good old-fashioned fun, where even the victims remembered it with nostalgia. And so, he could not really fathom why such a big deal was being made of Taylor Hebert's so-called bullying.

Now, the locker incident was a bad thing, sure. The murmurs around the school, in the classrooms, indicated that people had an idea as to who had done it. But Gladly had not pushed too hard to find out; that sort of thing would just cause more trouble than it was worth, so it was better off to sweep it under the carpet and let it die a natural death.

And in any case, Taylor had recovered soon enough; she was back in school, attending class, same as before. So no harm done, right?

* * *

But then there came Michael Allen, who asked awkward questions about matters that really were none of his business. Who _burst in on_ four girls in the bathroom, interrupting what was described as a bullying incident, but was no doubt just an example of light-hearted horseplay.

But, in his plodding, singleminded, unimaginative way, Allen had blown it up to the point that two of the girls – one of whom was the most popular girl in his World Affairs class – were now in in-school suspension until the end of the semester, and a third had left the school for good. If there was a more blatant case of meddling making the situation worse, Gladly didn't know what it was.

Even more egregious was the case of Taylor Hebert herself; far from being grateful to just settle back into obscurity, she was being transferred to _Arcadia!_ The word in the staff room was that Mike Allen had had a hand in _that,_ too. _Gladly_ had wanted to go to Arcadia, but his parents just hadn't had the money.

Then again, it probably wasn't the worst thing in the world that she was going, given that Allen had infected her with some of his ideas. Not only was _he_ carrying those damned voice recorders around the school, where any careless comment could be blown totally out of proportion, but _she_ had one also, now. If he'd known she had one before she left his classroom on that day, he would have confiscated it, but now it was too late; the principal knew she had it, and apparently permitted it.

* * *

Gladly was a man who knew his place in the natural order of things. Mike Allen wasn't. Since he had gotten to Winslow, Allen had been disrupting matters, giving the Hebert girl ideas that she could tell off other students for imagined slights. So of course, he had taken it upon himself to remind Taylor that good manners were an obligation that everyone had toward one another. And then Allen had even barged in on that, and pulled Taylor out of the classroom on some imagined excuse.

Fortunately, Gladly had followed them, only to catch them getting into a car, which he vaguely recognised as belonging to Gladys Knott. Gladys, who looked so much like a man in drag that the students snickered behind their hands at her. Gladys, who had told him off in no uncertain terms about his entirely justified criticism of Allen in the break room. So he had exaggerated a little about 'everyone' hating Allen. _He_ despised the man; didn't he count?

But now he had the goods on Allen. Leaving school grounds in the middle of the day, with a fifteen year old girl in the car. There were very few legal grounds for that, and most of those depended on him being related to her. He was fairly sure they weren't related. Gladly could barely contain his glee. Allen was _done._

He took the steps two at a time, and burst in through the front doors. Students wandering the halls during their lunch hour stared as he sprinted past them. About to pass the door to the computer lab, he slowed and peered inside. He was in luck; Mrs Knott was just tidying her desk.

* * *

Gladys Knott hummed to herself as she put away the last stack of papers. Time to go to lunch; it was a little bit of a pity that she would not see Michael there, but she understood that he preferred to take his midday meal on the front steps. But then, she reminded herself –

The door to the classroom burst open, and Mr Gladly entered in a rush. She stared; he had dirt on his clothes, and his hair was dishevelled.

"My goodness, Mr Gladly, what happened to _you?"_ she asked. She noted that one knee of his trousers had a hole in it, and his shoes were also scuffed.

"Your precious Mike Allen is what happened to me," Gladly replied, his voice hovering between anger and glee.

Gladys blinked. _Does he know about us?_

"I … beg your pardon, Mr Gladly?"

"I mean, the man you defended yesterday absconded today, not five minutes ago, with a female student in the car. _Your_ car. Did you know he had your keys? Or maybe he hotwired it. Grand theft auto. I wouldn't put it past him."

Gladly was speaking far too fast; he seemed just a little manic. Gladys tried to calm the situation.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Of _course_ I knew he had my keys. I loaned them to him this morning. He asked if he could borrow my car to run into town over the lunch hour."

Mr Gladly breathed heavily, apparently under the grip of some strong emotion. "Did he mention that he would be going into town with a fifteen year old girl in the car?"

Gladys blinked. _Michael, what __**are**__ you doing?_

"Not … as such," she replied cautiously. "But I'm sure –"

"I'm sure, too," he overrode her. "I'm sure there can be no possible good reason for it." He pulled out his cell phone. "I'm calling the police."

"Wait, wait," she told him. "Principal Blackwell might want to hear about this. In fact, she might have given him permission to take this student for a drive. Who is it, anyway?"

"Taylor Hebert, that's who," he shot back. "But you're right. I _will_ tell Blackwell. I'll get to the bottom of this, or my name's not –"

The rest of his impassioned speech was lost as he hustled out the door and it slammed behind him. Mrs Knott watched him go, then reached into her purse and pulled out her own cell phone.

She located Michael's number in the directory and called it; there was no answer. His phone appeared to be engaged. She tried again. Still no result.

"Oh dear, oh dear," she murmured. With a flash of inspiration, she dragged a phone book from the bottom drawer in her desk. "Hebert … Hebert …"

She vaguely recalled the name of the street that the Hebert house had been on, so she recognised it when she saw it. She called the number. No-one answered.

And then she recalled, from the party, that Danny Hebert was the chairman of the Dockworkers' Association. They had made a big deal of introducing Michael around, for what he had done for Taylor.

She went to the yellow pages, and located the Dockworkers' Association. Typing the number in, she pressed Call.

* * *

Principal Blackwell looked up in surprise as Mr Gladly burst into her office.

"Gladly, I hope you have a good reason for this intrusion," she told him acidly.

He fought for breath. "What if I told you that Mike Allen just beat me up and then drove out of the school with one of our students in the car?"

Blackwell's eyes widened. "You're not serious."

Gladly motioned to himself. "Look at me. Does this look serious enough to you? I tell you, he nearly tore my arm from its socket, then threw me to the ground. The man's a menace. And a kidnapper."

"Kidnapper?" Blackwell's gaze sharpened. "Are you sure she was going against her will?"

"I'm not sure," Gladly confessed. "I didn't get a chance to stop and ask him politely before he threw himself on me like a rabid bear and tried to dislocate my shoulder." He threw up his hands. "But he still left the school grounds with Taylor Hebert in his car!"

Blackwell frowned. "I thought he came by bus, today."

"Oh, not his car, no," Gladly backpedalled. "I just spoke to Gladys Knott. She said she loaned him her car, because he wanted to drive into town."

Blackwell nodded. "He actually asked permission to do that today, yes."

Gladly struck. "But did he ask to take a student with him?"

Blackwell shook her head. "No, he did not. This is bad. I think we should call –"

"The police?" asked Gladly. "Because I'll be glad to do that."

"Her father," Blackwell forestalled him. "Calling the police to the school never looks good. First, we should ascertain that Mr Hebert knows nothing of this. It will only take a few minutes."

"And _then_ we call the police?" Gladly was as eager as a terrier going walkies.

"And then we call the police," Blackwell agreed, if only to get him to shut up.

Blackwell went through her antiquated phone-file, and located the Hebert numbers. "Home … no. Work … ah. No mobile number. Huh." She picked up the receiver of her desk phone and punched in the digits of Danny Hebert's work phone number.

* * *

Danny Hebert had just dealt with some paperwork when the clock struck twelve. He sighed and decided that now was a good time to get some lunch. Just as he was getting up from the desk, the phone rang.

For a long moment, he almost let it go; he was hungry and lunch seemed like a better idea all the time. But then his sense of duty prevailed, and he picked up the receiver. Even as he did so, a second light began blinking on the phone.

"Dockworkers' Association. Danny speaking."

"_Oh, Mr Hebert, I am so glad I caught you."_

Danny frowned. He _knew_ that voice. Someone from the school?

"Principal Blackwell?" he hazarded.

"_No, silly. Gladys Knott. I came to the party with Michael Allen."_

"Ah, of course. Sorry. My brain must be out to lunch."

"_That's perfectly all right. How have you been?"_

"I've been fine. Look, I need to put you on hold for just a moment, all right? I have a call on the other line."

"_Oh, no, don't go. It's important."_

"What is?"

"_Did you know anything about Michael taking Taylor for a drive into town today?"_

Danny paused. "No … no, I didn't. Has he?"

"_According to that Mr Gladly, yes he has. Apparently he was quite urgent about it, too. Can you think of a good reason for him to do this?"_

Danny could think of only one, and he wasn't about to share it. "Actually, yes, I can. Mrs Knott –"

"_Gladys, please."_

"Gladys, then, if anyone asks, I have given full permission for Mike Allen to drive Taylor anywhere she needs to go."

"_Oh. Well, that's good to hear –"_

"Uh, I need to take this other call, okay? I'll just put you on hold."

"_Very well, Mr Hebert."_

Danny pressed the appropriate button, and waited for the phone to switch lines.

"Hello, Dockworkers' Association. Danny speaking."

"_Hello, this is Principal Blackwell. Am I speaking to Taylor Hebert's father?"_

"You are indeed. How may I help you?"

"_I have it on good authority that our security guard, Michael Allen, has abducted your daughter from the school."_

"Abducted? Are you sure?"

"_Well, he has definitely left school grounds with her, in a car."_

"Oh, that's all right then."

There was a pause.

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"No, Taylor needed to duck into town to get something, so I told her to catch a lift with Mike. He's a friend of the family, you know."

"_He … is?"_

"Sure. Mike's welcome over at my place any time. In fact, some of my friends are fixing his car up for him."

"_Oh. So … it's all right with you that she's left the school grounds with a strange man."_

"I'm telling you, I trust Mike Allen with my life. With my daughter's life. There's nothing to worry about."

"_Oh … uh, very well."_

"Listen, sorry I didn't let you know about this. I'll make sure to do that next time."

"_Yes, it might be a good idea. Thank you, Mr Hebert. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."_

"Not a problem. Have a good day."

* * *

Principal Blackwell put the phone down.

"Mr Gladly?"

"Yes?" he asked, already pulling his phone out.

"Apparently, Mr Hebert gave permission for Miss Hebert to go into town with Mr Allen."

He stopped, his expression collapsing.

"I don't believe it."

"Believe it," she snapped. "The man told me so himself."

"But he still assaulted me!"

"When he gets back, we will ask him about that," she informed him. "In the meantime, go and get yourself cleaned up. You're a _mess."_

Crestfallen, he went.

* * *

Danny pressed the button to switch the call back to Mrs Knott.

"Gladys, are you there?"

"_Yes, Mr Hebert, thank you. What's happened?"_

"Look, if I'm calling you Gladys, you're calling me Danny, okay?"

"_Very well, Danny. What has happened?"_

"Well, it was Principal Blackwell on the other line. Thanks for your warning. I think I managed to calm her down."

"_Certainly, Danny, but why would Michael need to drive Taylor into town so urgently?"_

Danny drew a deep sigh. "It's … complicated. But there's nothing illegal or immoral going on, I promise you."

"_I had not even considered it, with Michael. But what do you mean, complicated?"_

"I mean complicated. Things I don't feel comfortable talking about. We need to meet and talk. You, me, Mike and Taylor."

"_Certainly; when?"_

"How about tonight?"

"_Will it take long? I've got papers to grade."_

"It shouldn't."

"_Very well; tonight. I shall call Michael once his phone is free, and alert him."_

"Right. I'll let Taylor know when she gets home, if Mike hasn't already told her."

"_See you then."_

"Bye, Gladys."

He hung up the phone, and leaned back in his chair.

_Hoo boy. This is going to be an interesting conversation._

* * *

End of Part Eighteen


	19. Chapter 19

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: Sixth Interaction - Panacea

* * *

"Maybe we should call Dad and tell him what's going on, so at least he knows to cover for us," suggested Taylor as I urged the little car down the road at its best speed.

"Good idea," I agreed. "Actually, have you talked to him about getting a phone of your own? I mean, I know he doesn't like them, but in your situation …"

She blinked a couple of times. "How did you … oh wait, never mind. No, he doesn't like them, that's true. But you're right; it's probably a good idea to get one. I'll talk to him about it tonight. Want to give me your phone so I can call him?"

I was just wriggling the phone out of its pouch when it rang; I pulled it out and put it on to speaker, leaving it on the centre console between us.

_"You don't have time to call her father," _Contessa's crisp tones informed us. _"Take the next right, and the left after that. And plug in the earpiece."_

Taylor's eyes opened wide. "Who -" she managed.

_"I am a friend. That is all you need to know."_

I took the corner hard, then fumbled for the earpiece. "Now, now, be nice."

_"I apologise. My name is Contessa. We will speak later."_

I fumbled the earpiece into place, and handed the other end to Taylor. Silently, as I took the right turn, she plugged it into the phone. I tucked the phone back into the pouch.

"Okay, how we doing for time?"

_"You will get there. Accelerate to forty-five miles per hour to make the next light."_

I accelerated; we whipped through the intersection just before the light turned red. Taylor was rather pale, hanging on to the dashboard.

I grinned at her. "Relax. I've been driving longer than you've been alive."

"I just want to be alive at the end of _this _drive, thanks."

"Trust me, so do I."

* * *

I listened to Contessa's voice as she guided me through the crowded streets of Brockton Bay; not once were we stopped by a traffic light, not once were we forced to slow much below the speed limit.

Her powers may have been bullshit hax, but there was no denying that they were incredibly useful at times.

=/=/=

_In one potential timeline ..._

_The white van, anonymous and forgettable, moved purposefully through the streets of Brockton Bay. At one point, the driver stopped at a traffic light; a small blue car rocketed through the intersection in front of them._

_"Hey, did that guy look familiar?" asked the driver._

_"What guy?" asked the man next to him._

_"The one in the blue car."_

_"What blue car?"_

_It was, of course, well out of sight by now. "Never mind."_

_"So what's the story with this kid we're grabbing?"_

_"No story. The boss wants her, we get her. She'll be at home. Probably upstairs in bed. Her mother will be the only other person there. We pull up, go into the house, grab her, and go. Nobody gets hurt; not her, not the mother."_

_"Do you ever feel like we're in the wrong line of business? I mean ... kidnapping kids? Really?"_

_"Yeah, sometimes. Then I get paid, and it all goes away."_

_" ... actually, you have a valid point."_

=/=/=

One somewhat hair-raising drive later, I pulled the little car into a side-street, fifty yards down the road from the bank. There was a single car park left on the street, half occupied by a large rubbish skip; I pulled up alongside the space, eyed it carefully, then backed the little car into it.

Gladys Knott drove a tiny hatchback roughly half the length of my pickup truck. I'd been reverse parallel parking that thing for twenty years. Parking Gladys' car was likely to be the _easiest_ thing I was going to do that day.

* * *

As we got out, Taylor was undoing the coat that was tied around her waist, revealing the top half of her costume bundled up under it.

"Finish changing," I told her, "then get out on the street near the bank. When the PRT trucks show up, wave them down."

"Will they stop for me?" she asked doubtfully.

"I'll tell them to," I assured her. I tossed her the keys, then leaned across the hood to bump fists with her. "Lock it up when you're done, okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, I hurried out of the side street and down toward the bank.

"_Make the phone call,"_ Contessa instructed me as I rounded the corner.

Pulling the phone out of the pouch, I ended the call with Contessa and speed-dialled another number.

The answer came quickly. _"Piggot. You have the information?"_

"Yes," I confirmed. "The Brockton Bay Central Bank, in five to ten minutes' time."

"_Brockton Bay Central Bank!"_ I heard her shout, and it was repeated by voices in the background. Truck engines started up. _"You couldn't have given us more lead time?"_

"Sorry," I told her. "Events conspired. I can't talk long; I need to get into the bank and out again before it happens. One particular person needs to be not in there when the robbery kicks over. Don't worry; it's the Undersiders. They make a point of _not_ harming bystanders."

I heard her sigh. _"Don't try to be a hero."_

"I'll be fine," I assured her. "One more thing. I'll be temporarily unavailable, but Weaver will be on site. She will brief your men. Tell them that she's in charge; she knows my plan. In fact, she's an integral part of it."

"_You're sure about this."_

Her voice was firm, not questioning me.

"I am. Weaver knows what to do."

"_Then go; do what you need to do."_

I hung up. Immediately, the phone rang once more. It was, of course, Contessa.

"_The Undersiders are just arriving," _she informed me. _"Step to your right so that you are not seen."_

I obediently stepped to the right, putting a phone booth between me and the van that rolled down the street and turned into the alleyway alongside the bank.

"_You are clear. Cross the street now and walk toward the bank. I will tell you when to move in."_

I checked both ways, walked briskly across the street, and then slowed my pace as I moved down toward the bank.

* * *

The humidity hung in the air; it had been raining until recently, and more seemed about to come. I thought about what I was doing, and found it weird in the extreme. I had formulated this plan, and then turned it over to Contessa to walk me through like a puppet. It was my script, but she was pulling the strings. Like I said, weird.

I just hoped that she was not leading me astray for her own ends.

If that happened, I was screwed, the plan was screwed, everything I was working toward would be horribly disrupted. But I couldn't take precautions against that, and I couldn't second-guess her, or ... I didn't want to think about what would happen if I went against her instructions, and I was wrong. I'd miss the robbery, and my opportunity.

Contessa's voice sounded in the earpiece. _"Go into the bank now."_

I took a deep breath and moved forward.

The automatic doors opened in front of me.

I walked into the bank.

=/=/=

_In that same potential timeline …_

_The van pulled into a parking space, and the engine was switched off. The driver picked up a pair of binoculars. "That house up there. Front gate painted red."_

"_Got it," answered the passenger, lifting his own binoculars. "I don't see a car in the garage."_

"_That's because hubby took it to work," the driver noted. "One woman, one kid. Keep the woman quiet, grab the kid."_

"_Any idea why he wants her?"_

_This got him a warning look. "If you want to keep working for the boss, you don't ask those sorts of questions. You don't even **think** about asking them."_

_A long silence ensued. " … right. Okay. So, what's the plan here?"_

_The driver laid a paper plan out between the seats. The three men in the back of the van leaned forward to watch._

"_One front, one back, on the outside. Two in. One stays downstairs to watch the mom, make sure she doesn't do something stupid, the other one goes upstairs to grab the kid."_

"_Uh, shouldn't there be more than one going upstairs?"_

"_It's a **kid**." The look was withering, this time. "If she was a cape, the boss would have sent capes. He sent us. It's just a kid. Here's a picture."_

_Each man looked at the image; a little blurry, but recognisable as a girl of about twelve or thirteen with straight brown hair._

"_Now, here's the thing," the driver told them. "The mother does not get hurt. The kid does not get hurt. The boss would prefer one of you gets hurt before they do. Keep that in mind."_

_They mulled that over._

"_... okay," the man in the passenger seat decided. "I'm good. When do we move?"_

"_When we get the signal that the diversions are going ahead. We want the Protectorate and PRT looking in the other direction when this happens."_

_The man in the passenger seat settled back and opened a paper bag. "Suits me." He unwrapped a sandwich and bit into it._

=/=/=

Chilled, conditioned air washed over me as I walked into the bank. There was a security guard, wearing a uniform that was similar to mine in general, though different in its particulars. He eyed me as I walked in; I gave him a firm nod, security guard to security guard. The gun on his hip told me nothing; he might be an expert shot, or may never have fired the thing in anger in his life.

But he wasn't my problem; I walked on into the bank, scanning the lines of people. Amy Dallon was in this bank, and I had to get her _out _of it.

"_To your left,"_ said the earpiece. I looked to the left.

She was more petite than I had expected; quiet, eyes slightly downcast, frizzy brown hair. I moved up alongside the line she was standing in.

Even after nearly a week of being in this world, being in Brockton Bay, I felt the thrill all over again, the thrill that I had felt when I had first met Taylor, when I had first met Armsmaster. I was going to meet_Panacea!_

A deep breath; I calmed myself. 'Excited fanboy' was not the impression I wanted to give her.

My voice was firm as I spoke. "Amy Dallon. Panacea. Correct?"

She glanced sideways at me, up at my face, then down at the security guard uniform that I wore.

"Uh ... is there a problem?" she asked.

"No, no problem," I assured her, my voice still firm, matter of fact. "I just need you to step outside the bank with me. It's about a matter of some urgency."

"Oh, okay, sure," she replied, nodding as if to assure me that she was willing to do what I asked. "I just need to get some money out –"

"_Mention her sister,"_ Contessa said in my ear.

I leaned a little closer, and murmured, "It's about your sister."

Her eyes widened. "Vicky? Is she okay? Is she hurt?"

"Glory Girl is perfectly okay," I assured her, "but we _do_ need to step outside, right now, to talk about important matters regarding her."

I took a step away from the line; as if joined by a string, she followed me. I did not attempt to touch or coerce her in any way; she had to follow me of her own free will, if this was to work at all.

Was that a thump, a dull cry, from farther back in the bank?

We were three yards from the doors.

Two yards.

One yard.

They _whooshed_ open in front of us.

We stepped through.

They closed.

* * *

And utter pandemonium burst out behind us, in the bank; massive creatures bounded through the lobby, barking so loudly that we clearly heard it, even through the thick glass of the doors. Someone had, in the words of the song, let the dogs out.

"Well, _that_ was close," I remarked. "Suppose we get a little farther away from the ongoing bank robbery?"

She took an involuntary step back from the doors, then stared at me, eyes wide. I moved down the steps; she followed.

"You – you _knew_ this was going to happen? That the bank was going to be robbed?"

"I did indeed. I also know that if I had not been here, both you and your sister would have suffered mental and physical trauma. That's not going to happen, now. Which is a good thing."

"But how did you _know_ it was going to happen? How did you know I was going to be in there? That I would be hurt?" She frowned. "That can't be right, anyway. Vicky's force field can stop anything."

"It's very powerful, yes, but it goes down for a few seconds just after a big hit," I told her. "Not many people know this. It's kind of a hidden vulnerability."

She frowned, shaking her head slightly. "If you're trying to play me, or kidnap me –"

I smiled. "No, believe me. I know just as much about your powers as I do about Glory Girl's, and I'd have to be a moron to attempt to kidnap you." I inclined my head along the pavement. "Now, if we can find some place to sit and talk -?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What about?"

I sighed slightly. "Your problems, and how to fix them. All of them. Even the ones you don't know you have."

Her chin lifted aggressively. "I don't have any problems."

"Really," I responded, raising an eyebrow and lowering my voice. "So you're _not_ in love with Vicky, then?"

She went white as a sheet, looking around; I had already glanced around, ensuring that no-one was watching or listening. "Don't _say_ that!" she hissed, then she glared at me. "If you're trying to blackmail me –"

I had to shake my head. "Amy. Miss Dallon. I'm _on your side._ You have problems. I know how to fix them. I know a great deal. After all," I reminded her, "I knew exactly when to walk into the bank and ask you to walk out with me, just before it was robbed."

She looked from me to the bank, and back again. Doubt began to creep across her face. " ... what do you want from me?" she asked eventually.

"Just to sit, and to talk," I assured her. "Nothing more."

She drew a deep breath.

"... okay," she assented. "We'll sit and talk. I guess I owe you that much."

I smiled. "Thank you."

=/=/=

_In that potential timeline ..._

_A mobile phone rang. The driver answered it. He listened, then spoke four words. "Target in sight. Proceeding."_

_Dropping the phone into its holder, he pulled a ski mask over his face and started the van. "Soon as I stop," he ordered. "Out and go."_

_The van sped down the street, then executed a U-turn that left it parked right next to the low fence outside the house in question. The side door slid open, and the three men jumped out. They also wore ski masks; they hurdled the fence and one man headed down alongside the house while the other two went for the front door. The man in the passenger seat, also masked up, got out and followed on, taking up a position just inside the front gate. _

_The front door crashed open, and the two men went in fast, assault rifles up and tracking. The mother emerged from the kitchen saw the men, saw the guns, shrieked and cowered. The assault rifle tracked her motion, but the men did not fire; they had more discipline than that. One man pointed to his comrade, then at the woman. Two fingers pointed at his eyes, then at her. **You're on her. Watch her.** There was a nod in reply._

* * *

_Heavy boots thundered on stairs as the man took the steps two at a time. The floorplan had the girl's room marked out; he turned the handle and pushed the door open, his rifle pointed at the ceiling. The girl lying in bed wearing bright floral pyjamas, looked up in shock and surprise. She was the right age and had long brown hair; this had to be her. A comic book fell to the floor._

"_Okay, kid, you're coming with us," he told her, striding across the room and reaching out to grab her by the arm. _

"_No," she told him. "I'm not."_

"_Don't be an idiot," he snapped, starting to wonder why she was so composed. And why it was taking so long to get across the room to her._

_And then he stopped wondering anything at all, as Armsmaster's halberd caught him in the middle of the back, a jolt of electricity sending him into dreamland._

* * *

"_Please don't hurt me!" pleaded the mother. "I'm scared of guns!"_

_With a sigh, the mercenary pointed the rifle at the ceiling. "Look, see? Not pointed at you now. So calm down. No-one's getting hurt here."_

_He glanced at the stairs; had he heard a thump? When he looked back at the woman, she was much closer. He was also severely starting to doubt that she was the girl's mother._

_Part of this was the dusky shade of her skin, which he had not noticed to begin with; to him, woman plus screaming equalled civilian. Another part was the large-calibre pistol that was pointed at his face from just over arms' length away; no grabbing the gun and disarming her. The final piece of the puzzle was the a flag-print scarf now covering the lower half of her face._

"_Good to hear," Miss Militia told him, and thumbed back the hammer on her pistol. "Rifle down now please."_

_He very carefully put the rifle on the floor._

_Behind him, a discarded child's backpack split open, and there were suddenly two more people in the living room. One blurred out of the room, en route to the back door, while the other stepped out through the front door._

* * *

_The man waiting at the back door was startled when he heard a tremendous bellow from the front of the house. Raising his rifle, he started toward the corner of the house. The back door opened, and he turned, only to be faced with Velocity. The Protectorate hero punched him seventeen times in four seconds, giving him no chance to defend himself; when he slumped to the ground, Velocity disarmed him and zip-tied his hands behind his back._

* * *

_Triumph was already drawing in a breath when he stepped out through the front doorway. The mercenary on the front path was looking outward, not inward; he began to turn, only to be caught in a blast of sound that smashed him clean over the low fence and into the side of the van._

_The van revved its engine and began to pull away from the curb, tyres squealing. Armsmaster leaned out an upper window and levelled his halberd; a crackling bolt of energy struck the vehicle, and the engine abruptly died. It rolled to a halt, the driver's side door burst open, and the driver made a run for it._

_He didn't make it more than four steps, as a fleeting form blurred past the van and clotheslined him neatly. Velocity looked down at him, struggling to rise, and shook his head. "You'd think they'd learn."_

_Triumph stepped over the fence and began securing the man he'd hit with his shout. "People like this never learn." He tapped his radio earpiece. "All clear out here. How did it go inside?"_

_Miss Militia emerged from the house, prodding the mercenary ahead of her. "This one didn't give any trouble."_

_Behind her, Armsmaster followed on with Vista; she had her visor back in place, while he carried the last mercenary over his shoulder. "It all went according to plan."_

"_Yeah," Vista agreed. "Just wish that I'd been able to do more than be bait."_

_Miss Militia reached back and ruffled her hair. "We couldn't have done it without you."_

* * *

_In one potential timeline, this happened. But in reality, of course, it didn't. When Coil got word that his kidnap attempt had failed, he dropped that timeline, and went with the one where he never made the attempt at all._

_Vista, disguised as Dinah Alcott, lay in bed and read comic books while Armsmaster kept her company; Miss Militia maintained her role as Anna Alcott. The real Mrs Alcott and her daughter sat under secure PRT guard in the Protectorate base._

_The backpack had been enlarged on the inside via Vista's powers so that it could hold two members of the Protectorate; they waited, watching for a sign that the kidnap was taking place, and played cards to pass the time. Vista never had a reason to relax her power over it, to allow them to burst forth as if appearing from nowhere. _

_But she was prepared to, and so the kidnap attempt never eventuated._

_When the phone call came that the robbery had been foiled, they gave it another thirty minutes, then vacated the premises, locking up behind them._

_In both timelines, of course, the bank robbery still took place._

=/=/=

We sat at a small table outside a street cafe, just down from the bank. Amy Dallon looked at me searchingly.

"Okay," she began. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"My name is Michael Allen," I told her. "I also go by the name Security."

"You're a _cape?"_

I shook my head. "No, but the name comes in useful from time to time. As for what I want ... I want to fix things. Help people. Save the world. But I can't do it alone."

She was staring at me. I sighed; closing my left hand into a loose fist, I placed it on the table between us. "I am fully aware of how your powers work," I told her. "I give you full permission to use them to make sure that I am telling the truth at all times."

Tentatively, she placed her hand over my knuckles; her skin was soft and warm, and I wasn't sure that it didn't tingle somehow, with her power.

"What happened to your ribs?" she asked almost immediately.

"Got kicked," I told her. "It happens. The other guy's in jail. I'll live."

She drew a deep breath. "All right. What do you know about me and my problems?"

I spoke frankly. "You have four big issues that I know of, or five, depending how you count them. This includes one that _you_ don't know about. Currently, you're dealing with them, just. But sooner or later, something's going to happen, and you're going to be overwhelmed, and then bad things will happen. If you and Vicky are unlucky, really bad things."

"Vicky ..." she whispered. "What's going to happen to Vicky?"

* * *

My voice was low and firm, telling the story without judgemental overtones. "Your attraction for her, you can handle. But when you've got so many other problems hitting you at once that you just _need_ her, that's when you do the one thing you swore you'd never do. And then you lose her. And then when you get her back, you accidentally make her into something entirely monstrous, and you lose her for good then."

She looked at me, her eyes filled with tears. "How do I stop this?" she asked. "How do I fix it?"

I gave her a genuine smile. "You're in luck," I assured her. "I do have a solution. But first, let's go over your issues, so we both know what we're dealing with."

"Okay ..." she ventured, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

"Issue number one. You're in love with Vicky. Trouble is, she's straight, and she doesn't even know how you feel about her. I know that she's got anger issues, such as with the guy she kicked the dumpster into the other night. The one you left thinking he was going to have performance problems."

I paused; her eyes were wide now.

"I _told_ you," I reminded her. "I _know_ things."

* * *

There was a rush of wind, and she hastily moved her hand from mine, just as a white-clad form landed alongside the table.

"Hey, Ames," Glory Girl greeted her sister. "Gallant just texted me, told me the bank was being robbed. Him and some others are on the way." She looked incuriously at me. "Who's this?"

"Uh, this is Mr Allen," Panacea told her. "He's sitting with me to make sure I'm okay." She indicated the imposing building down the street. "You might want to go see about that bank robbery."

Glory Girl grinned. "Sure thing." She nodded to me. "You be sure to take care of my sister, all right?" And with a _whoosh_ of slipstream, she was gone again.

I nodded approvingly, even though Amy had not spoken. "Smart thinking," I praised her. "What I've got to say, she might not appreciate."

Amy swallowed. "Go on." She placed her hand back over my knuckles. I could imagine her reading my skin conductivity, my blood pressure, my heart rate, my pupil dilation. There was no way I could lie to her and get away with it.

"As I was saying, you love her, and she loves you, but in two entirely different ways. And she keeps hurting people by accident, and you have to keep covering for her."

"Not any more," she murmured. "I told her so."

"I know. And good for you. But she might have trouble believing that you mean it. Anyway. Second issue. Your home life. It's ... toxic. Your foster father; Mark Dallon. Flashbang. A nice guy, but he is of course chronically depressed, and sometimes he forgets to take his meds. Even when he's there, he's not really _there_.

"Carol Dallon; Brandish. Your foster mom. Or really, she's not even that. She doesn't like you, doesn't trust you, doesn't approve of you. She's never even hugged you." I shrugged slightly. "You remind her of your real father, which is an excuse, I guess, but not a really good reason."

"What do you know about him? My real father?" she burst out.

"I know who he is, and the name he christened you with," I told her. "But we'll get back to that. Your home life. Your sister, Victoria. You're in love with her. She's the only person who accepts you as you are, but there's the whole unrequited love aspect, so even that's not good for you. How am I doing?"

"How ... how do you _know_ all this?" she asked. "Have you been spying on us, surveilling us?"

I shook my head. "I _know_ things about you. Like how you're starting to doubt yourself, doubt your motivations. I know about the kid with the heart, how you started thinking about what would happen if you screwed up just once, how people would stop having these high expectations of you."

She stared at me. "What ... ?"

"It's your third issue. You're getting close to burning out," I explained. "It's an occupational hazard for high stress jobs. Air traffic controllers, surgeons, people like that." I fixed her with a steady gaze. "You're a sixteen year old girl. I have _decades_ more life experience than you. You've been saddled with a responsibility that would send _me_ around the bend, unless I had the chance to get some 'me' time once in a while. You're not becoming like your father, no matter what Carol Dallon says. You're just hitting your straps, reaching the end of what you're willing to do voluntarily. You need to take a step back, take a rest. Walk away for a while."

She shook her head. "I can't ..." she whispered. "I can't. There are too many people ..."

"Yes," I contradicted her. "You can. What you were feeling? That's not a sign of some evil nature peering through. That's your body and your brain trying to tell you that enough's enough, that no matter how many people you heal, no matter how many miracles you perform, Carol Dallon is never going to approve of you, call you her daughter, treat you the same as she does Vicky."

She was silent, stricken.

"It's _all right_ to take a break." I put all the sincerity I could into the assurance. "Let me tell you a little secret. People are born, live, and die without ever meeting you. Some of them get sick. Some of them even die. It happens. Yes, you work miracles, but if you stop for a day, a week, a month, _the world will not end_. And not one person has the right to tell you that you can't, because they are _your_ powers, and it's _you_ that's burning out. You need to get your head sorted out, and that's what I'm here to help you with."

She frowned slightly. "Why, are you some sort of therapist?"

I chuckled. "Nope. But I have one on speed-dial. Look, we need to cover one more issue, then I'll give her a call. Okay?"

"What issue is that?" she asked warily.

"Brains," I replied succinctly.

"I don't _do_ brains," she replied automatically.

"But you _can,"_ I responded.

"But I can't –"

I held up my free hand. "I know. I know what you're going to say. It's way too scary, way too much responsibility. You can literally _change_ the way someone _thinks._ That's frightening as hell. Not something you want to be doing just for shits and giggles. Yeah?"

She was silent for a long moment, looking at the table. "Yeah," she admitted quietly.

"Well, I have a question for you."

She looked up at me.

"Suppose Leviathan was due to hit Brockton Bay on or about, say the fifteenth of next month," I posited. My voice was quiet, but my tone was deadly serious. "Suppose you and your family went to face him. Suppose Flashbang, your foster father, was badly injured. Brain damage. He's the closest thing you've got to family, apart from Vicky. What do you do? Do you fix the brain damage, so he can do more than sit on the couch and drool, or do you maintain your no-brains rule? Because we both know you _can_ fix brain damage as easily as anything else. It's just that you choose not to." I raised my eyebrows. "What do you do?"

Her eyes were full of tears again. "I can't – you're telling the truth. Is this going to _happen?"_

"I hope not; I've taken steps to prevent it. But if it does, if something similar does, if Vicky herself took an injury to the brain, would you fix it, or leave her to be a vegetable, even though you knew you could fix her?"

She shook her head. "I can't. I've told too many people that I don't do brains. But I can't let Vicky _suffer –"_

"Wait up, wait up," I reminded her. "I told you, I have solutions to your issues, and that's no exception."

Her eyes fixed on mine. "What solution?"

"Change your rule. Modify it from 'no brain fixes' to 'only back to status quo'. Brain damage, brain cancer, brain whatever ... only back to the factory default. No tweaks, no improved memory. Just the original equipment. That's fair, right?"

She looked doubtful. "I don't know ..."

"It's just a suggestion. And anyway, you should have time to think about it. As far as I know, nothing drastic is due to happen in the next month. But in the meantime ... do you know a Mrs Jessica Yamada?"

"I've never met her, but I know of her by reputation," Amy replied. "Why, is she your therapist?"

"Not _mine_ as such, but she's agreed to talk to you about your problems. I contacted her last Friday, and asked her to wait for my call today."

She stared at me. "That's _six days _ago! How did you know -?"

"The full story would be stranger than you could believe," I told her truthfully. "Suffice to say, I knew enough to get her to help you sort your problems out."

"But ... why her, and not someone else?"

"Because I know for an absolute fact that she will not freak out, will not judge, when you tell her about your problems."

=/=/=

**Evening of Friday, April 8, 2011**

"_This is Jessica Yamada. Who am I speaking with?"_

"I'd rather not give my name over an unsecure line. Please call me Security for the moment," I said carefully.

"_Very well,"_ she replied, sounding a little exasperated. _"What is this about an A-class threat? And why are you not taking this to the authorities?"_

"Because the threat has not happened yet," I said. "But it will. In just over a month. The girl in question is currently a hero. But she has several serious issues which will all be targeted in about five weeks' time. And then … well, one cape will suffer horribly, and this girl will end up in the Birdcage. Other people will likely die because of this. Unless something is done _now_. Or very soon."

"_You are speaking very obliquely,"_ she observed. _"How do you know this? Why five weeks' time? Who is this person? And what makes you think I can help?"_

"You're the best cape therapist I know of, bar none," I said bluntly. "Listen; one of your patients at the Boston asylum is Sveta. Otherwise known as Garotte. She likes to draw. She also keeps a diary, in which she writes down her dreams. And she plays an online game called Space Opera. You prefer to call her Sveta, as you consider using the codenames to be detrimental to their progress. When you visit her, you have to wear a reinforced suit with airbags inside. How am I doing?"

There was a long pause. _"How … do you know all this?"_ she asked quietly.

"The same way that I _know_ what's going to happen in five weeks' time," I said. "Unless I can force some drastic changes in that time span. Which I don't know if I can, so let's presume I can't."

She caught something in my tone. _"What happens in five weeks' time?"_ she asked.

I took a deep breath. "Leviathan hits Brockton Bay," I said. "May the fifteenth."

"_You're serious,"_ she said.

"I am," I replied.

"_The authorities need to know,"_ she told me. _"If this is true, with this sort of lead time, they can prepare …"_

"I already emailed them the information," I said. "But I need you to understand how serious this is. Which is why I told you. After five weeks' time … there won't _be_ a chance for therapy, not for this girl. She'll be heading down a very dark path. And that could be bad for everyone. Everyone on Earth."

"_Who is she?"_ she asked.

"I can't tell you right now, because she doesn't know about any of this. But her powers ... her powers, if unleashed in the wrong way, could make her into an A-class, or even an S-class threat." I paused. "I need to meet her, get her confidence, so that when I contact you again, she'll be willing to talk to you."

"_Contact me again?'_ she asked.

"Yes," I said. "Thursday the fourteenth of April. Just after midday. If all goes well, I'll be calling you then, and she'll be with me. Hopefully, she'll be willing to undertake therapy then."

"_You realise that this is very irregular,"_ she said. _"I much prefer having appointments made in the normal fashion."_

"I'm truly sorry for interrupting your Friday evening like this," I told her, "but this is the very first opportunity that I've had to do it. I'll contact you then … oh, one more thing."

"_Yes?"_ she asked.

"When I talk to you again, I'm going to ask you for a word. The word is 'Marquis'."

She paused. _"That's the name of a villain in the Birdcage."_

"Yes," I said. "Yes, it is. Can you remember that for me?"

"_I'm writing it down now,"_ she said.

"Thank you, Doctor Yamada," I said. "I truly appreciate this. If we can pull this off, we'll be saving two people from a world of torment." I paused. "Sorry again for interrupting your Friday evening. Have a good night."

She sighed. _"I suppose my work never leaves me alone at the best of times. I will be waiting for your call."_

She hung up. I closed my phone. _God, I hope this works, _I told myself.

=/=/=

**Just after Midday, April 14, 2011**

Disconnecting my phone from the earpiece, I called up Mrs Yamada's number and rang it. Setting the phone to speaker, I placed it between us.

"_Hello? I presume this is Security? I've been waiting for your call."_

"Indeed, Mrs Yamada. And I have the young lady I spoke of with me. You've probably heard of her." I nodded to Amy, prompting her to speak.

"Uh, hello, Mrs Yamada, my name is Amy Dallon," she began.

"_Panacea, yes," _replied Mrs Yamada. _"I have heard many good things about you."_

"Okay, Amy, Mrs Yamada," I said smoothly, "here are the issues in brief. Do you have a pen?"

"_Of course."_

"Excellent." I spoke slowly, pausing between each sentence. "First: Amy's relationship with her sister. Second: Amy's relationship with her family. Third: the fact that Amy is burning out, and needs to step back from healing for a while. She really needs someone to lean on, to talk to. Fourth: Amy's rule about not touching brains. And fifth, the issue we have not yet touched on. Amy's real father."

"You said you knew who he was," she interjected.

"I did, and I do," I agreed. "Mrs Yamada, have you gotten all that so far?"

"_I have."_

"Okay, here's my deal for you, Amy. Agree to take therapy with Mrs Yamada, and I'll tell you your dad's identity. And your real name."

Her eyes opened wide. "But why –"

"Because if I don't, you will find out the hard way, in a couple of months. And it would have caught you at a bad time. A really bad time. Here, now, you have time to think about it. Get your head around it. Talk to Mrs Yamada about it."

"But ..." She stopped, then began again. "Mom – Carol – always –"

"Acted like you were going to be exactly like your old man?" I snorted. "Hardly. We get to be like our parents by learning from them. You haven't seen yours in eleven years. You're _nothing like_ him, Amy. I know that for a guaranteed fact. So. While you're thinking about taking therapy, want to hear my solutions for your issues?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, not saying no, but – I can't afford –"

"_It won't cost you a penny,"_ Mrs Yamada assured her. _"I will be billing the PRT."_

"Damn straight. Which reminds me," I commented. "Will you have any trouble fitting her hours in around your other patient's?"

"_What other patient?"_

"You know, your _other _patient, the really famous one, that I referred to you?"

"_I'm sorry, Security. I don't know what you're talking about."_

_Oh shit. Eidolon hasn't contacted her._

I controlled my outward reaction, but I was sure that Amy picked up the rush of adrenaline and whatever else had just entered my bloodstream. Her eyes widened; I nodded reassuringly at her.

"Okay, I'm gonna need to fix this, but right now ... let's get you sorted out, Amy." I took a deep breath. "Long story short. One, you're gonna need to take about a month off from healing duties of all kinds. Two, you're gonna need to move out of home. That toxic situation is doing your head no good at all. And three ... you're going to have to find a support structure, someone you can trust to give you moral support and guidance. But that last one can wait. The first two are paramount."

Amy shook her head. "I can't just _stop."_

"Sure you can. You _need_ to get your head together, and that's step number one."

"_I concur. Constant stress is one of the biggest health problems in the world today."_

"Okay, but I can't just up and move out of home! Where will I go?"

I grinned. "Would you believe, I have a place already lined up?"

Amy stared at me. Again. "Seriously, _what?"_

"Two person household. Father and teenage daughter, about your age. She'll be going to Arcadia really soon too. Nice girl; her name's Taylor."

"I can just ... move in?"

"Danny Hebert – he's a good man, trustworthy, head of the Dockworkers' Union – knows about this. I spoke to him on the subject a few days ago. I helped Taylor out with some major issues of her own; he's willing to help me out with this."

Pulling a pen and notepad from my pocket, I wrote Danny's name, his number and his address on the top page, tore it out, and handed it to her. Numbly, she took it from me.

"This is a place you can go where you'll be accepted. There'll be no pressure, and like I said, Taylor's a good kid. She knows what it's like to be on her own with no friends. I think you two will get along just fine. You have a lot in common. I think she'd be a damn fine start for moral support."

I leaned back in my chair, as far as I could with her still maintaining contact on my hand. "Okay, I've said my piece. Your turn. Do you agree that your issues really need working on?"

She nodded. "From what you've told me, from the emotional impressions I got from you ... yes. They do."

"And do you think you can handle taking therapy, and making use of my other solutions, to deal with them?"

She was silent for a moment. "What ... about Vicky?"

"_I do not know about the details of your issues with your sister, so I cannot comment on that. Security?"_

I met Amy's eyes. "You're going to have to talk to Mrs Yamada about it. Then you're going to have to bring Vicky in and break it to her as well. It's almost certainly not going to turn out the way you'd like it to, but therapy will probably make it easier to handle."

She dropped her eyes. "I ... I guess."

"Trust me," I told her, "the other way? Turns out really badly for you and Vicky."

She nodded. "Okay."

I tilted my head silently, in query.

"Okay, I'll go to therapy with Mrs Yamada."

"_Very good. Security can give you my number. Let me know when you're able to see me. I am entirely at your disposal in this matter."_

I smiled broadly. "You're doing the right thing, Amy. Thank you, Mrs Yamada. And one more thing. You recall the name I had you note down?"

"_Yes."_

Amy looked at me. "Is that ...?"

"Yes. Your father's name. Mrs Yamada?"

"_Ah, this makes sense now. Amy, your father's name is Marquis."_

"Oh my god," breathed Amy. "No _wonder_ Carol was so uptight about it."

I nodded. "Your real name is Amelia Claire Lavere."

"Amelia Claire Lavere ..." she repeated slowly.

I wrote another number on the pad, tore it off, and handed it to her. "Mrs Yamada's number. You think you can take it from here?"

"_I believe we can. Thank you."_

Amy took the number. "Yeah. I'm good from here. And thanks."

"Excellent. Let me know if there's any issues with the billing, Mrs Yamada."

"_I will do that, and thank you again."_

"Also, you may be contacted by another client, in the next day or so. Equal priority to Amy here. Okay?"

"_I will be waiting for the call."_

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"_You are welcome."_

I hung up my call to Mrs Yamada; Amy carefully folded both pieces of paper and put them away. I stood up and stretched.

"Well, it looks like the shooting's already been and done," I noted, observing the mounds of containment foam outside the bank.

"What, really?" asked Amy, startled. "Why didn't we hear anything?"

I grinned. "Grue. He's a member of the Undersiders. His darkness stifles sound as well as light. Unfortunately, it does bugger-all against containment foam." I tilted my head. "Want to go and see what the aftermath of a foiled bank robbery looks like?"

_While I figure out how to contact Eidolon and kick his arse._

Her answering grin made her look young and carefree, just for a moment.

"I'd _love_ to."

* * *

End of Part Nineteen


	20. Chapter 20

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty: Taylor

* * *

The little blue car came to a halt alongside the oversized dumpster, and Mike expertly reversed it into the half-a-parking-space that remained. I was impressed; while I didn't have my driving licence yet, I had a vague idea as to how it was done, and I had the distinct impression that he'd made a rather difficult manoeuvre look much easier than it really was.

We both got out of the car; as I undid the coat tied around my waist, Mike turned to me. "Finish changing, then get out on the street near the bank. When the PRT trucks show up, wave them down."

"Will they stop for me?" I asked. We'd gone over the plan, but I wasn't at all sure that the PRT would even pay attention to me. I was, after all, a very new cape.

"I'll tell them to." Mike tossed me the keys, then leaned across the hood and bumped fists with me. I felt that same little thrill that I did each time we did this; Mike was treating me as an equal, as an adult, as someone of consequence. Whether deliberate or not, each time we repeated that gesture, it added a little extra to my self-esteem, to my confidence. "Lock it up when you're done, okay?"

We must have been short on time, because he hurried away then, leaving me to get changed.

I already had the lower half of my costume on under my jeans; I checked the area for potential witnesses using the bugs in the vicinity, and found none. Working as fast as I could, I took off my top and my jeans and shoes, then wriggled into the top half of my costume. The clothes went on to the front seat of the car, then I took off my glasses and pulled my mask on over my head.

The big armour panel on my back went on next; according to Mike, I would not need the others. I took them out of my bag anyway; I could put them on while I was waiting. Pressing the button to lock the car, I stowed the keys in the storage area on my back.

Hurrying to the entrance of the side street, I glanced both ways. No trucks yet. _Good_. Keeping an inconspicuous lookout with my bugs, I continued to put on my armour panels.

At the same time, I had three bugs on Mike, showing me where he was. I saw him step to the side, which puzzled me, until I realised that he was avoiding being seen. From that, I picked out the vehicle belonging to the Undersiders, a nondescript van, which had just pulled into the alleyway beside the bank.

* * *

The windows of the van were open in the muggy air, and quite a few bugs were already inside the van. I counted four people and three dogs, as well as what looked like a couple of duffel bags. The people were relatively easy to tell apart, despite the fact that I couldn't hear worth a damn through the bugs, and sight wasn't much better. The tall one had to be Grue; the slim one with the flowing clothes was Regent. Bitch was the one with the dogs, and that left Tattletale as the last one by default.

Mike had explained to me how Tattletale's power worked, and I was careful not to make the bugs do anything suspicious in her sight. But the dogs already had a few flies buzzing around them, so I added a few to the swarm. A couple of them got themselves tangled in the hair on the back of Tattletale's head, then sat quiescent, not struggling.

The others were easier to tag; Regent's ren-faire clothing had many folds that would hide insects quite well, Grue's leathers were similarly useful, and Bitch already had one or two flies on her; I just told them not to take off again. I even managed to sneak half a dozen flies into Grue's helmet. If I needed a distraction for him later on, this was tailor-made.

The rain had stopped just a few minutes ago, so there were puddles everywhere. When they got out of the van, they splashed up water, the dogs apparently enjoying this immensely. But then the dogs started growing and swelling, their skin splitting.

I was momentarily startled, then I recalled Mike's description and my own reading on Bitch's powers. They would grow, he had told me, but their skin wouldn't grow with them. In fact, the flesh on the outside was incredibly dense and hard, able to take bullet wounds with little effect. There would also be dried blood and bone spurs.

This didn't matter to me; it just gave me more places to plant bugs so that I knew not only where each dog was, but which way it was looking.

* * *

Tattletale bent over the keypad to the back of the bank, and tapped a few keys. Grue pulled on the door, and they were in. A small swarm of flies followed the dogs in, attracted to the blood, but still under my control. With these, I was able to track their progress through the back hallways of the bank pretty well exactly. They were pausing to check rooms, so I was able to send flies ahead, to calculate when they'd reach the main lobby.

It was getting close. Mike was inside now, talking to a girl I presumed was Panacea. My bugs couldn't get a good read on her, but I placed a few on her anyway.

The Undersiders were making their way through the bank, and I bit my lip inside my mask. Mike still wasn't outside. Now he was moving toward the doors. The dogs were growing a little bigger; the Undersiders were getting close to the back entrance to the lobby. Too close. He was going to be trapped in there with the rest of the customers.

And then the automatic doors opened; he walked out with Panacea. At almost the exact moment in time as the doors slid shut, the monster dogs bounded into the lobby, enlarging even farther, letting out barks and growls that I could hear through the door, across the street and down a ways.

Moving up, I peeked around the corner. Mike stood on the steps, talking to Panacea. Then he moved down the steps; she followed him. Still talking, they moved off down the sidewalk. I had only the vaguest idea what he was saying to her; he had intimated that she had personal problems, just as I had had personal problems, and that he intended to help her fix them.

I couldn't imagine someone like Panacea having the same level of personal problems that I did, but whatever they were, I wished him all the luck in fixing them.

=/=

The next few moments were nervous ones for me; the Undersiders were in the bank, robbing it, and Mike was down the street a little way, sitting at a table, talking to Panacea. I seemed to be the only one outside the bank who both knew it was being robbed, and cared about the fact.

I supposed that if I'd had to, I could have built up a swarm to incapacitate the Undersiders before they ever entered the bank. But Mike had been adamant that the bank actually be robbed; or at least, that the Undersiders enter the bank and commence to rob it. What happened then was up to me.

* * *

Suddenly, with a whoosh of displaced air, a slim figure dropped out of the sky. She landed on the street in front of the bank, looking across at it, with her hands on her hips.

I frowned and hurried out toward her.

"Glory Girl?" I called out.

She turned toward me, almost immediately taking an aggressive stance. "Who are you?"

"I'm Weaver. One of the good guys."

"You sure about that? Your costume looks a bit dark and edgy to me."

I rolled my eyes; of course, she couldn't see that.

"I control bugs. I made it dark so I can blend in with a swarm. Listen, I'm waiting for the PRT to get here so I can brief them. We need to hold off until then."

"So what about the bank robbery?"

"It's the Undersiders. There's four of them. Grue, Tattletale, Regent and Bitch."

"Bitch?"

"The press calls her Hellhound. She prefers Bitch."

She chuckled. "I like it. _Is_ she one? A bitch, I mean?"

I shrugged. "From the one time I met her, a little bit, yeah."

"So you've met the Undersiders, then?"

"Yeah. Only for a short time, and we opted to go our separate ways. But hey, they're robbing a bank, so yeah."

"Cool. I've never stopped a bank robbery before."

"Uh ... can you just hold back? There's a plan, here. We're going to draw them out and take them down. No casualties, either side."

She gave me a suspicious look. "What kind of a superhero _are_ you?"

"A cautious kind, ever since I met Lung."

She winced. "Ouch." A pause. "Hey, didn't Lung get taken down –"

I nodded. "Yup."

"That was –"

"Me and a friend, yup."

She stared at me anew. "What friend?"

"Sorry, can't say. It's kind of a privacy issue."

"Huh. So what do we do now?"

"We wait. PRT's almost here."

* * *

I had already picked up the trucks several hundred yards out; big, blocky things with powerful engines, spewing volumes of black smoke into the air. As the first one rounded the corner, I stepped out and waved it down. Glory Girl watched from the sidewalk; from her expression, she expected it not to stop.

At first I thought that the truck was indeed going to roll right over me, but then it pulled to a halt. The passenger rolled down his window, and I trotted around to that side.

"You Weaver?" he shouted over the rumble of the engine. He was wearing PRT standard uniform, less the blank-faced helmet, but I saw what I thought was officer insignia on his jacket.

"Yes!" I called back, nodding at the same time.

"Good!" he called out, and opened the door. He called out an order that I didn't hear, but the driver obviously did, because he put the truck into gear. The officer swung down on to the road and closed the door, taking a couple of steps away from the truck before it began to rumble down the road once more. The truck behind it pulled over to the side of the road, behind us.

The back opened and troops poured out; under barked orders from non-coms (or so I guessed) they spread out to secure the area. With them were two capes; I recognised the costumes as belonging to Gallant and to Kid Win. Glory Girl flew – I mean, literally _flew_ – at Gallant, stopping short an instant before what would have been a bone-crunching impact, and kissed him soundly.

I guessed that the rumours that they were a couple were true, after all.

* * *

The officer and I both stepped over to the pavement, and he shook my hand.

"Lieutenant Grant," he supplied. "Director Piggot gave me very specific orders. I am to put you effectively in command, unless and until you do anything to endanger my men."

I swallowed, and nodded. "I'll try not to let it come to that," I told him, working to keep the nerves out of my voice. "Do you have your foam-sprayer guys here? I need to brief them. Tell them to bring their sprayers."

He nodded. "Understood." There was a radio clipped to his lapel; he gave brief, terse orders through it. In a very short time, I had eight men arranged in front of me.

I was tall for my age, so at least I wasn't looking _up_ at them. But it was still a little unnerving; each of them was watching me with some interest, obviously wondering what I was going to say. It didn't help that Glory Girl, Gallant and Kid Win were watching from behind them.

Fortunately, Mike and I had been over this.

"The Undersiders are in the bank," I began. "Four of them; Grue, Tattletale, Regent and Bitch."

One of the men raised his hand hesitantly. "Who's that last one?"

"Hellhound," supplied Glory Girl, from behind him.

I nodded thanks to her. "Anyway, we're going to be blocking off the back way out, so that they've only got the front way to come out. And that's where you guys come in."

I pointed at the steps of the bank. "They'll know you're here pretty soon. They'll also know that there's only a few capes on site. We're – I'm arranging matters so that they'll think they will be able to sneak out under cover of Grue's darkness."

"Excuse me?" asked another man. "Darkness isn't really an obstacle. We're all equipped with night-sight optics."

"It is, here," I informed him. "What Grue creates is more of a harmless gas that blocks all electromagnetic radiation, as well as most sound. The smartest plan, in his shoes, is to flood the area in front of the bank with it, then charge out under cover of it and make a run for it. What he doesn't know – and more importantly, what _Tattletale_ doesn't know – is that we've got you guys. And me."

"So if we can't see a thing," he asked reasonably, "how are we supposed to make a difference?"

I indicated the foam sprayers, and the range cards fixed on them. "You see those cards?"

There was a general round of agreement.

"Think of it as an electronic target screen, without the electronics." Bugs flowed from under my hair, where they'd been resting all this time. "These will give you the targeting data."

Each card was soon covered in bugs, and more lined up down the barrel of each sprayer.

"Each of these bugs has a brightly coloured abdomen, which becomes visible when it flares its wings," I announced, making random bugs show off their abdomens. "There's a firefly in the centre of each card. When you're on target, it will start blinking. Any questions?"

"Yeah." It was the man who had asked about Bitch. "How will _you_ know when we're pointing in the right direction?"

It was a question I'd asked Mike. "Because his darkness doesn't block my sense of where my bugs are."

"Can you handle all the targeting data simultaneously? That has to be hundreds of bugs, and calculations of angles." The lieutenant.

I nodded seriously. "I believe I can." I believed it because Mike had told me I could do it. "But I have a question of my own."

He nodded. "Shoot."

"At twenty yards, how far will foam drop from the line of the barrel?"

"About six feet."

I nodded. "Thanks. That's all I needed." I turned to the rest of the soldiers. "That's about it. They're still deciding what to do, in there. If you can find positions where you can hit them with reasonably accuracy, we can wait till they make their move. Just stay out of sight until they come out."

"I can put someone on the roof of the bank," offered Glory Girl brightly.

The Lieutenant glanced at me; I nodded.

"Good idea," he stated. "Make it so."

The soldiers were in position, bracketing the entrance, within thirty seconds. Glory Girl hefted two of the men to the top of the bank, then took up position – at my suggestion – across the street from the bank, alongside Kid Win and Gallant.

It was the Undersiders' move now.

=/=

_"The white hats are here."_

_Grue and Bitch were out of the vault, joining Tattletale as she headed for the bank windows. Regent kept an eye on the crowd, idly tossing his scepter up and catching it again._

_"Well, it could be worse," Grue stated. "Two Wards and Glory Girl."_

_"Funny, I expected more of a turn-out than this," Tattletale admitted with a frown._

_"Does it matter?" growled Bitch._

_"Not really," Grue noted. "Glory Girl's an Alexandria package, but I figure your dogs can keep her busy, right, Rachel?"_

_"Damn straight," agreed the stocky girl. "I can take them all, if you want."_

_"No," Tattletale denied. "There's more to it. PRT's here too. I just spotted a truck."_

_"Fuck," muttered Grue. "Chance of going out the back way?"_

_"Minimal," Tattletale told him. "They'll have that blocked off with troops. It'll be a bottleneck. They'll pick us off like pigeons."_

_"So it's the front doors, then."_

_Tattletale nodded. "And we should move before they get more reinforcements. There **has **to be more on the way."_

_"How much cash did we get, anyway?" asked Regent._

_"Twenty-five thousand, seven hundred and fifty," she replied. "It'll have to be enough."_

_"So how do we play this?" asked Grue._

_"Send out hostages, then you flood the street with your darkness," Tattletale told him. "Glory Girl's mobile, but she won't be able to see a thing. Gallant and Kid Win have ranged attacks, but they won't be able to target us in the darkness, and they won't be able to fire wild because of the hostages. You go out, guiding the lead dog, the others can follow its scent. We'll charge right by them. No need to even engage."_

_"I still say I could take them all," Bitch insisted stubbornly._

_Tattletale nodded. "Sure you could. But this way? We waltz right by them, no-one gets hurt, our rep takes a big jump. The boss trusts us with bigger and better jobs."_

_"We'll do it," decided Grue._

=/=

I spotted them moving the hostages toward the doors, of course. The Lieutenant had given me a radio; I pressed the button and spoke quietly. "Everyone, get ready. Hostages coming out. The bugs will flash when it's the bad guys."

The doors opened, and a dozen people stumbled out of the darkness, trailing wisps of it behind them. Immediately, shouts rang out from the PRT soldiers for them to drop to the ground. They did so as they reached the bottom of the steps, just before the cloud of darkness from the bank rolled over them. It spread, farther and farther, until I was worried that it would swallow up the men with the foam sprayers. But even Grue's power had its limits; they were still outside the cloud, but definitely closer than I'd imagined they would be.

Glory Girl was hovering above it, along with Kid Win, who was riding on some sort of flying skateboard. Gallant had retreated along the sidewalk.

"I can't see a thing, can you?" Glory Girl called to Kid Win.

He couldn't, of course; his armour may have had some reasonably good sensory systems in it, but Grue's power blocked them all.

Every bug on each targeting card flashed its abdomen. All of the foam-sprayers stood, aiming their nozzles into the general mass of darkness.

I followed the progression of the Undersiders out of the bank, all riding on dog-back. As Grue emerged, I tagged him on the first soldier's sprayer; the general mass of bug abdomens gave way to one bug showing its abdomen, the rest dark. He moved his sprayer, and the 'dot' moved on the range card as each subsequent bug folded its wings and the next opened them. He swung the sprayer over, and centred it with relative ease. I set the firefly blinking. He squeezed his trigger.

* * *

At the same time, the other Undersiders emerged, first Bitch and Regent on one dog, and then Tattletale on the last one.

I had the soldiers aim at the hindquarters of the dogs; I didn't want the dogs to trip and maybe roll over the top of their passengers. Everyone was going to survive this day, if I could help it.

The first stream reached out toward Grue, who lurched and avoided it; I adjusted the aimpoint on the range card. The soldier corrected his aim slightly, and I directed one of the men on the roof to add his stream of containment foam to the first.

This time, the inital stream hit both Grue and the dog, slowing them just long enough for the attack from the roof to hit them from above. The foam swelled and glued them down; Grue struggled uselessly. From the sounds the flies in his helmet picked up, he was swearing luridly.

Bitch and Regent didn't even get the warning that Grue got; they were hit from two sides, and the dog was hit with another stream. The dog, to a signal from Bitch, made a gargantuan effort and broke free from the mass of foam that was seeking to nail it to the ground, but they were now stuck to the dog, and then all three streams converged on their mount. They didn't get another yard farther.

I have no idea what signal, what inkling, Tattletale picked up, but she slipped off of her dog instants before it was engulfed in foam. She began sprinting back toward the bank.

She almost made it, too; she was halfway up the steps before two converging streams of foam hit her. She struggled, uselessly, then just lay in the soft, sticky grip of the yellow-white foam. From the motions of her mouth, and the vibrations in her throat, she was also swearing.

Once Grue was covered over, the black gaseous substance was blocked from emerging from his body. Gradually, it began clearing away. Along with the PRT men and the other capes, I began moving cautiously in. After all, what my bugs told me and what was really happening might be two different things.

However, this time, the story they told me was true. The Undersiders were well and truly caught, foamed to the asphalt and concrete. The hostages, some of whom had also been spattered with containment foam, were unhurt, although understandably shaken.

* * *

Lieutenant Grant shook my hand. "That was very nicely played," he praised me. "You were as accurate as you said you would be."

I shrugged modestly. "Your men are very good. It was easy."

"Easy, hell," Grant scoffed. "I _know_ electronic targeting sensors. You just did the job of eight of them, simultaneously. Please tell me you're joining the Wards. We could do with more people like you."

Before I could answer, Glory Girl came up alongside me.

"Damn," she commented admiringly. "That was neat. Though I kind of wish I'd gotten to go a few rounds with one of them."

"Which one?" I asked. "There's none of them are Brutes."

"Maybe one of the dogs?" she hazarded. "But that would be no fun. Dog drool, yuk."

I spotted Mike then, at the periphery of the crowd that had formed around the site of the one-sided battle. He had his phone to his ear. Amy Dallon, near him, also had her phone out.

Glory Girl's phone rang. "Hello? Oh, hey, Ames. What? Getting back to school? Oh, all right."

She turned to me as she hung up the phone. "That was fun. See you around, Weaver." She grinned. "I'll never look at bug control the same way again."

I nodded. "See you around, Glory Girl."

Glancing back at Mike, I noted that he was tapping his watch.

_Oh shit,_ I realised. _We have to get back to school too._

=/=

"_Piggot."_

"_**Security."**_

"_Congratulations. Your protege performed magnificently."_

"_**I know. She did well. All Undersiders captured, not a casualty on either side. The bank won't even lose any money."**_

"_It's almost an anticlimax. So, what are you calling about?"_

"_**A favour. A big one."**_

"_I can't promise anything."_

"_**Don't process the Undersiders just yet. Keep them together. They're going to be in on the Coil bust, once I get off work this afternoon."**_

"_You have to be joking. We don't have any intel on the man or his location. And we can't trust them to go against him."_

"_**Actually, we have nearly everything we need. What I won't be able to supply, the Undersiders will."**_

"_And you think they'll give it up? Change sides so readily?"_

"_**When they hear what I have to say, they'll jump at the chance."**_

_Piggot sighed. "Why do I get the feeling that no matter what I say, it's going to happen the way you tell me?"_

"_**Because you're a reasonable woman, and I'm not a cape. I'm normal, just like you."**_

"_Hah. As if."_

"_**Normal where it counts, then. No powers. Anyway, apart from that, I have two other requests."**_

"_Fine. What are they?"_

"_**They're both to do with Bitch."**_

"_Who?"_

"_**Oh, sorry. Hellhound. Kindly tell the superior officer on site that the big dogs need to be cut open –carefully! –and the actual dogs inside taken out before they suffocate. These dogs should be transported separately from Bitch, but treated humanely."**_

"_I suppose that's reasonable. And the other?"_

"_**Find out from her where she's keeping the rest of her dogs, and send a couple of men out there to care for them, feed them, and so on. Preferably men with veterinary experience, or at least men who like dogs and who have trained with them."**_

"_So why are we bending over backward for her, exactly?"_

"_**It's the best way –the only way, really –to keep her on side. Dogs are her strength and her weakness. Show that you're treating them kindly, and she will be far less aggressive and hostile. Mistreat them, and you will never have a worse enemy. If you have a puppy on base anywhere, let her have it for the time being. Trust me, it will never be in better hands, and she'll be happier for it."**_

_Piggot considered this. "And the others?"_

"_**Just keep them all together. Comforts of home. No interrogations, no separations, no concrete cells. That's what they'll be expecting; keep them off balance. Wondering when the other shoe will drop."**_

"_And you'll show up, and they'll cooperate with you."_

_There was a chuckle. __**"Oh, they'll be pissed as hell at me, but hopefully I'll be able to get past that."**_

"_Indeed. Well, we can delay processing for twelve hours. I'll make the arrangements now."_

"_**And don't forget about the dogs on site."**_

"_I'll make the call now. Before I make the arrangements."_

"_**Oh, and what's the word with Canary?"**_

"_I spoke with Chief Director Costa-Brown. She pulled the right strings, and the paperwork was expedited. A Dragon craft is due to drop Ms Macabee off here in an hour or so."_

"_**Excellent. See you after five."**_

"_I'll be here."_

_He hung up; she ended the call, and then dialled Lieutenant Grant's phone._

"_Ah, Lieutenant. Please listen carefully ..."_

=/=

I wormed my way through the crowd, muttering excuses as I went. A few people stared at me, but I took no notice. I had totally lost track of time; I had no idea when it was.

I had lost sight of Mike, but my bugs told me that he was also moving toward the car.

Some people tried to stop me, to ask questions, as I kept moving. I shook my head.

"Sorry, I have to go," I told them, and moved on.

* * *

And then Mike was there. "Move aside, move aside," he told them, and they did. As impersonally as any nightclub bouncer, he escorted me out of the crowd and to the corner of the side street. I ran down the street as he sauntered after me; most people were now paying more attention to the villains, now being released from their containment-foam prisons.

I ducked in behind the dumpster, unlocked the car, and dived inside. By the time he was there, I had the mask off and I was working on the armour panels. He opened the door and climbed in; I handed him the keys.

"Damn fine job," he told me, and we bumped fists. I blushed pink with pride.

He started the car, and pulled out of the parking spot. "How fast can you change?" he asked me. "Because we're not stopping on the way back."

"I'll just have to see," I replied.

He handed me his phone. "Call your Dad, and put it on speaker." Then he let out the clutch. Gravel sprayed down the side of the vehicle as the engine did its best to bellow, and the car took off like a startled cat.

I checked the time – it was just after twelve twenty-five, so we had twenty minutes to get back – and then pecked out Dad's work number. It rang; I put it on speaker, and placed it in the centre console while I went back to wrestling with the armour panels.

=/=

_Danny Hebert's desk phone rang. He snatched it up. "Hello?"_

"_**Dad, hi."**_

"_Taylor, where __**are **__you? And where's Mike?"_

"_**Right here, Danny. We're both fine. You might want to turn on the news, though."**_

_Danny picked up the remote and turned on the TV mounted on brackets on the far side of the office. He flicked through the channels until he found the twenty-four hour news._

"–_**ockton Bay Central Bank, where a daring daylight robbery was foiled by the combined efforts of the Parahuman Response Teams, and capes from the Wards and New Wave. PRT officer Nathan Grant made the following statement."**_

_The image switched from the front of the Central Bank to a close shot of a PRT officer with a microphone in his face._

"_**We were given advance warning of the bank robbery by an outside source, which is what allowed us to respond so quickly. On site, we were aided by the new cape Weaver. With her assistance, we were able to subdue and capture all four members of the villain group known as the Undersiders –"**_

_Danny muted the TV._

"_Taylor? That was you?"_

"_**Yeah, Dad." **__She sounded excited and pleased, and understandably so._

"_You weren't in any danger?"_

"_**God no, Dad. It was fun. They never even knew I was there."**_

"_Well, it looks like you did good. I'm proud of you."_

"_**Thanks, Dad. Uh, Mike wants to ask you something."**_

"_**Yeah. We had to race out of the school pretty quickly. Has anyone called you about that?"**_

"_Actually ... yes." Danny told them about the call from Mrs Knott, and the one from Principal Blackwell._

"_**Wow." **__That was Taylor. __**"When I see Mrs Knott, I think I just might hug her."**_

"_**You and me both." **__Mike. __**"Oh, and by the way, Danny, you know how I asked you about taking in a boarder?"**_

"_Yeah?"_

"_**I spoke to her today. She might turn up tonight or tomorrow night. It's Amy Dallon."**_

"_Panacea? Of New Wave?" Danny was somewhat surprised, to say the least._

"_**That's the one. This is still okay?"**_

"_Uh, sure, sure ... right. Yeah, we can do this. Uh, one other thing."_

"_**What?" **__asked Mike._

"_When I was talking to Mrs Knott, I wasn't really able to give her a good excuse for you having to run off so quickly. So, uh, we're going to be having a talk tonight sometime. This might involve Taylor's, uh, hobby."_

"_**Taylor might be a bit late in," **__Mike informed him. __**"We're not finished yet."**_

"_**We're not?" **__asked Taylor._

"_**Nope," **__Mike confirmed. __**"One more bit of business, after I get off work. I'll tell you about it later, Danny."**_

"_Okay, fine," Danny agreed. "Take care, you two."_

"_**Always do," **__Mike agreed._

"_**Sure thing, Dad," **__echoed Taylor._

_The call ended, leaving Danny staring at the phone._

_**Well, at least I know they're safe. For the time being.**_

=/=

"Great," groused Mike. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be," I told him. "It was going to get out sooner or later. And if anyone at that school learns it, I'd rather it be Mrs Knott."

"You have a point," he agreed.

"Anyway. Other business?" I asked.

"Coil," he explained. "He needs to go down. Preferably tonight. He's already had me kidnapped and probably tortured; he won't try _that_ again in a hurry, but you just showed up on the news in conjunction with the Undersiders being captured. He might just show an interest in you."

"Wait a minute," I protested. _"Probably_ tortured? How does that work?"

He looked unaccountably grim. "I'll fill you in along with all the others, after school."

He nodded toward the phone. "Do me a favour and find Director Piggot's number. Just leave it on speaker, thanks."

=/=

_"Piggot."_

_**"Me again."**_

_"I've just been speaking to a rather puzzled Lieutenant Grant, but your requests have been met. Or are you calling me about something else?"_

_**"Take a wild guess."**_

_"Careful, Mr Allen. Your stock is very good with the PRT at the moment, but there is such a thing as pushing it."_

_**"Okay, okay. Two more things. One, I need to talk to Director Costa-Brown on a very urgent matter. Two, I need you to locate two people for me."**_

_"You want me to tell you where someone is?"_

_**"Nope. I just want to know that **__**you **__**know where they are. Not approached. Not surveilled. Just precise knowledge of their location."**_

_"Which two people?"_

_**"Thomas Calvert, and the head of Fortress Constructions. CEO, or whatever. The main guy."**_

_"May I ask why?"_

_**"I'll tell you later. You have five hours."**_

_"You are a very aggravating man."_

_**"Admit it; I make life interesting."**_

_"So do the Endbringers."_

_**"But can you do it?"**_

_"Oh, I can __**do **__it. But don't expect to be told the results."_

_**"Like I said, don't want to know. Don't need to know. I just need to know that **__**you** __**know."**_

_"And you're not going to tell me why."_

_**"Five hours, I will. Listen, gotta get off the line."**_

_"I will expect full disclosure."_

_**"Trust me, you'll get it. Bye."**_

_"Goodbye, Security."_

_He hung up the call; she put the phone down._

_Then she sighed, and picked it up again._

_=/=_

I pressed the button to end the call, and looked at Mike questioningly.

"Let me guess – you'll tell me later?"

He shook his head. "No, I can tell you some of it. But this stays between you and your little bugs, right?"

"Right," I agreed. "Of course."

"Calvert and the head of Fortress Construction are the same guy," he explained.

"And that's Coil," I guessed.

"Got it in one," he praised me.

"So why are you asking Director Piggot to locate them?"

"Because she'll try, but she won't succeed."

"Huh?"

"In just the same way that there wasn't even an attempt at kidnapping Dinah Alcott, earlier."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it's the way Coil's power works."

"I don't get it."

"Trust me, you will."

I waited; he didn't seem interested in going on.

"Director Piggot was right. You are a very aggravating man."

He grinned at me. "Why, thank you. I practise regularly."

I was going to press him for more information, but he nodded at my costume. "Might want to get that sorted, hey?"

I'd gotten my armour panels off, and my jeans and shoes on – and if anyone thinks that's an easy job in a small car being driven at high speed by a large man, then they need to think again – but I still had the costume itself on. The gloves, of course, were a piece with the rest of it.

"Don't look," I told him, and unzipped the costume.

"Don't look at what?" he asked, literally holding up his right hand to block his view of me.

"Thank you." I wriggled out of the top half of the costume, then pulled on my T-shirt. "Okay, done."

"Good." He actually sounded relieved. "Not in my life plan to be caught in a car next to a fifteen year old girl who's changing her clothes at the time."

I couldn't help teasing him. "Some boys would consider it a lifelong dream." In the interests of honesty, I added, "Well, maybe not with _me."_

"Okay, for the first part," he replied seriously, "I'm not a boy. You're young enough to be my daughter, if I had one. So seriously, no. In the second part … hmm. I don't know how to reassure you in that regard without contradicting what I just said in some way. But you're not as plain as you think you are." He paused. "Maybe you'll meet someone nice at Arcadia."

I had to grin. "Maybe. But I won't be holding my breath."

He angled his wrist to check his watch. "Christ, we're gonna cut it close."

I checked the time on his phone. Twelve forty-four. "Can we make it?"

"We will or we won't. Whatever happens, happens."

As a philosophy of life, it wasn't very comforting.

=/=

As it happened, we did make it. Just.

Mike pulled into the parking lot at twelve forty-six, just after the bell was due to go. He slowed to a halt opposite the steps; we bumped fists before I got out.

"See you after school," he told me.

"See you then," I agreed.

Then I sprinted up the steps and headed for my next class.

_Back to normality. Such as it is._

* * *

End of Part Twenty


	21. Chapter 21

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: Developments

* * *

I pulled the car in alongside the grounds-keeper's shed, set the parking brake, put it out of gear, and turned the engine off. Then I sagged back into the seat, relaxing every muscle I could reach, just letting my whole body go limp. I even closed my eyes.

"Fuck me rigid. That was insane."

I had to chuckle at the sound of my voice inside the small car.

It _had_ been insane. The _week_ had been insane. I had gone from stopping bullies, to helping capture a horribly overpowered cape – and nearly being burned to death in the process – to setting up another cape to be captured, to ensuring that a super-powered bank robbery would take place before arranging for it to be foiled.

In the process of the latest incident, I had helped Panacea, given Taylor another much-needed boost to her self-confidence, ensured that Dinah Alcott would stay out of Coil's clutches – that is, if the PRT had done its job correctly – and in general set off such flocks of butterflies that I had hardly any idea about what would happen after tomorrow.

I couldn't wait.

* * *

Pulling the key from the ignition, I went to get out. Doing so involved a certain amount of twisting and flexing, and I knew that this would press my bruised ribs against the stab vest.

But there was no pain, no stiffness.

I frowned, and twisted a little harder. My ribs felt the pressure, but there was no pain, no discomfort.

A slow grin crept across my face. _Why, that sneaky little wench. She healed me, and never let on. And I didn't notice until just now._

Getting out, I locked the car and strolled around to the front doors. Gladys would not need her car until the end of the day, and I knew where to find her then. I hadn't refuelled it, of course, but I figured I could fix that up later.

There still remained the matter of signing back in, and weathering whatever storm had been raised by our precipitate departure. I sighed, and set my course in that direction.

=/=/=

Before I was even halfway there, my phone rang. The number was unfamiliar; I answered with a noncommittal "Allen."

The voice was Alexandria's. _"I am a very busy woman, Mr Allen. I hope that this matter is important."_

_Yeah,_ I thought, _because I bring __**trivial **__matters to your attention all the friggin' time. For __**frig's **__sake._

Out loud, I tried to be a little more circumspect. "Actually, I believe it is. You know that little chat we had Sunday?"

_"I have an excellent memory. Of course I remember it. Get to the point."_

"Well, as I recall, your colleague agreed to, uh, make a doctor's appointment. He has failed to do do. This concerns me." _Let's see how you go with understatement._

Her voice was sharp. _"You were checking up on him?"_

I bit back angry words. "No. It came up in relation to another matter. Anyway. The point is that he _needs_ to make that appointment."

There was a pause. _"I have spoken with him on the matter. He considers that, after the initial advice you gave him worked out so well, he considers himself strong enough to handle the problem from here on in."_

I took a deep breath. _The idiot thinks he can 'handle' the __**Endbringers**__._

"No," I ground out. "No, he is not. I can absolutely fucking one-hundred-percent guarantee that."

Something in my tone must have caught her attention. _"Explain."_

"Okay," I began, trying to word this in an innocuous fashion. "For one thing. The problems that he thinks he can overcome? They actually get harder, the more resources you throw at them. Currently, they're on 'easy' mode. You don't want to _see_ them on 'hard' mode."

Her tone was cautious. _"But if he can overcome them before they can escalate -"_

I cut her off. "Okay, something I have not yet told you. What we're talking about? You knock over one, you know what happens? Two more pop up. Or three, depending how you count them."

There was silence on the line. Finally, she spoke. _"There are __**more**__?"_

"Seventeen more variations. And the more we escalate the, uh, cures, the more they'll be escalating the infections."

"_Seventeen_." Her voice was flat.

"Seventeen," I agreed. _"Now_ do you see why I wanted him to see the doctor as soon as possible? Jesus christ all-fucking-mighty; I don't believe that I'm lecturing _you_ on how to do your job. Call yourselves -" S_uperheroes. _"- responsible people? I'm only trying to save -" _The world. _"- his health, here. Is it too much to expect just a little cooperation along the way? For _fuck's _sake."

I realised that my voice may have risen slightly toward the end there, so I moderated my tone. "Sorry, but you understand why I might be a little unhappy about hearing that news. We've got one month before this goes critical; he needs to see the doctor."

From the tone of her voice, I knew she had understood what I had not said. _"I will explain matters to him as soon as I can."_

I didn't even care any more that I was talking to someone who could easily put her fist right through me. "Yeah, you do that."

_"One more thing."_

I was about to hang up; I paused. "What?"

_"There are other strains around, not as dangerous."_

I frowned. "Other strains?"

_"Nine of them, to be precise."_

_The Nine._ "Ah. I know the ones you're talking about. What about them?"

_"Is it advisable to eradicate them now, or keep them as, uh, antibodies?"_

I didn't hesitate. "The Juliet Sierra strain _needs_ to be destroyed. Just recall its particular resistances. Same with any of the other strains that cannot be contained." I paused. "The, uh, less mature Bravo Sierra strain might be of some use, as well as the Sierra Bravo."

_"And the Whiskey Mike?"_

My voice was firm. _"Only_ if it can be safely and indefinitely contained. Otherwise, kill it dead."

_"Understood. I will pass on your instructions."_

"Excellent. And kindly tell your colleague that if he doesn't smarten his act up, then I _will_ have to take steps. Personally. And I _don't_ want to have to do that. Is this totally understood?"

_"Perfectly. I will tell him."_

And with that, she ended the call.

I put the phone away, and continued on my way to Principal Blackwell's office. With the greatest of efforts, I managed to not break into a cold sweat over how I had just told off the most powerful woman on the planet. I resolved that at our next meeting, I would be very polite indeed.

_Of __**course**__ I don't want to have to bloody tell Eidolon what to do in person. Because I have no idea how to make it stick._

=/=/=

"_Eidolon."_

"_Alexandria."_

"_I've just been on the phone with Security."_

"_So what's he got to say?"_

"_For one, that you haven't made your appointment to get therapy with Mrs Yamada as you said you would."_

"_You didn't argue when I told you why not, earlier."_

"_Yes, but I hadn't just had a monumental strip ripped off of me by that man, just now."_

"_You're __**kidding**__ me."_

"_There are things we did not know. Things you need to know."_

"_Such as?"_

"_Such as the Endbringers are taking it easy for the moment. They can make things much, much harder for us."_

"_He told you this?"_

"_He did. And I believe him. And there's more."_

"_More?"_

"_Yes. If his information is correct, there are __**twenty**__ Endbringers in total. There are only three active at the moment, but if we kill one, two or three more will emerge from wherever they are hiding. And, I presume, more again if we kill more than one."_

" _..."_

"_David?"_

"_You believe this too?"_

"_I do."_

"_So what do you think we should do?"_

"_I'll be making that appointment for you. You will attend."_

"_But I don't __**need –**__"_

"_You. Will. Attend."_

"_Okay, fine, I'll attend."_

"_But first, let me sweeten the pot a little."_

"_How?"_

"_He said that you can take down the Nine any time you like. Jack Slash needs destroying. If you can contain Bonesaw, Shatterbird and Manton, do so, but kill the others. Just remember –"_

"_Yes. Jack Slash can anticipate a cape's actions. I read the email too."_

"_Good. And don't let him talk to you. Apparently he's quite persuasive."_

"_Oh, I don't intend on coming within a hundred yards of him."_

"_Good hunting."_

"_Thank you."_

"_And then __**attend therapy**__."_

"_I will, I promise."_

"_Good."_

=/=/=

The principal looked up as I entered her office.

"You're back," she observed. "Six minutes late, by the clock."

"I'm sorry. I got a phone call as I was walking in. Taylor would have made it to class okay."

She leaned forward on her desk. "About that. You didn't tell me that Taylor was going out of the school with you. Nor did she come to get permission to leave."

I nodded. "Yeah, I found _that_ one out once we were already off school grounds. But I got in touch with Danny, and he said it was all good with him. So I figured, hey, she's with me, I'm a school employee, I'll make sure she doesn't skip her afternoon classes."

"Which she isn't," Blackwell noted.

"Nope. She's in class right now," I agreed.

"So … what _was_ it that she needed to get?"

I shrugged. "No idea. We stopped at a few shops, but she didn't actually get anything much. Maybe she just wanted to spend the lunch hour away from school?"

Blackwell compressed her lips. "It's rather irregular."

I nodded. "Sure. Next time, I'll make damn sure she has permission to leave." I paused. "And that leads to our next problem."

"Next problem?"

"Mr Gladly."

Ms Blackwell looked wary. "What about him?"

"He followed Taylor and me from the school, and when Taylor got in the car, he tried to drag her out of it. The man's a menace. He could have broken Taylor's arm."

She stared. "He … _laid hands …_ on a student?"

I nodded. "Grabbed her arm, tried to drag her out of the car. So I went around and walked him away from her."

"He says you assaulted him."

"Only to prevent him from assaulting her."

"Does Taylor want to lay charges against him?"

"I don't think so. She's transferring to Arcadia soon, right?"

Blackwell nodded. "Quite soon, actually. I'm just awaiting the final confirmations."

"Yeah. Well, I doubt she'll be wanting to be stuck dealing with that sort of crap. Is it possible to just tack this on to his other disciplinary thing?"

Principal Blackwell looked thoughtful. "Listen, I can't really go ahead with this unless there's actual evidence one way or another. Did you happen to have a recorder running ...?"

By the tone of her voice, she expected me to say no.

"Actually, yes, I did."

Extracting the recorder from my belt pouch, I ran it back until the timestamp indicated what I wanted. Then I pressed PLAY.

* * *

_"Excellent."_ That was my voice. It was followed by the sound of a seatbelt clicking into place, and a car engine starting.

Then there was the sound of a car door opening. Mr Gladly's voice sounded next.

_"What the hell are you doing? Where the hell are you going with this student?"_

My voice replied. _"I'm a friend of the family. I'm taking her to the shops."_

_"No, you're not. Taylor, get out of the car right now."_

There was a cry of pain, and Blackwell winced. "Taylor," I explained quietly.

Then my voice shouted, _"No!"_

Another car door opened, this one much closer. The recorder faithfully reproduced my hurried footsteps, my quick breaths. There was a pause, then a grunt.

"He tried to hit me."

Another grunt, and a stifled cry of pain.

"Got him in a compliance hold, and he tried to get out."

_"Lay a hand on her one more time, Gladly, and I will break your fucking arm." _My voice, flat and hard.

Then there was the sound of several footfalls, and a body falling to the ground.

* * *

I stopped the recording. "I pushed him so that he fell over, got in the car, and we left. I didn't need to deal with that crap, or with Gladly. If he'd gotten up while I was still there ..." I left the rest unsaid.

Blackwell nodded judiciously. "I think you have the right idea. We will deal with this at the same time. The disciplinary hearing's on Saturday."

"Am I required to attend?"

"Not unless you want to."

"Is he likely to lose his job over this?"

"No, but enough black marks on his file, and that will certainly be a possibility. No matter the outcome of the hearing, he will have to walk very carefully indeed for the next few months."

"That's fine with me. But someone needs to tell Gladly that being the popular teacher should come second to taking care of the less popular students."

With that, I walked out of Blackwell's office. Carefully, I closed the door behind me.

I had another phone call to make; I went up to the third floor, and found a deserted corridor.

=/=/=

" _... and I'm thinking teal and cream just there, offsetting the dark brown of the panelling –"_

_Kayden's attention was distracted by her phone going off. The elderly client looked around at her, questioningly._

"_I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'll be with you in a moment."_

_She pulled out her phone and checked the number. She frowned; caller ID was blocked. So who was calling her?_

_She took a deep breath. "NuHome Interior Decorating, Kayden speaking."_

_The voice that she heard was entirely unfamiliar to her. __**"Ah, Ms Anders. I'm glad I caught you."**_

_She frowned. "Who is this? I'm with a client –"_

"_**Call me Security. I have a message for Purity."**_

_She went cold all over. "I have no idea what you're talking about."_

"_**No worries. Let's pretend you don't, for the moment. But listen carefully. There's a supervillain in Brockton Bay who's been amassing dossiers on every member of the Empire Eighty-Eight, past and present."**_

_The voice paused, then went on meaningfully.__** "Including family members. **__**Especially**__** family members. And he intends to release it online in a few days, in order to get the upper hand in a gang conflict."**_

"_But that's breaking the unwritten rules –"_

"_**Yup. He's the sort of guy who does that. But never fear; he's going to go down. Tonight, if I can pull it off. However, I cannot guarantee that he hasn't arranged some sort of electronic fuck-you that spills the beans anyway if he's taken down. So I would suggest not letting Aster out of your sight over the next few days. You might even consider leaving town for a week or so, just in case, until the dust settles.**_

"_**Because I know how devoted you are to your daughter, and I know what lengths you'll go to, in order to get her back, if she's taken from you. And I'd rather you didn't find it necessary to go to those lengths. So consider this a friendly heads-up."**_

"_Oh," she replied at last. "Oh. Ah ... thank you?"_

"_**No thanks necessary. Just take care of Aster, and stay away from Max. Okay?"**_

"_I ... I'll do that. Uh – one question?"_

"_**Yes?"**_

"_Does Max know about this?"_

_He chuckled. __**"You can tell him if you want. I haven't bothered."**_

_And the line went dead, just like that._

_Kayden stared at her phone for a few moments, then shook her head and put it back on her belt._

_Manufacturing a smile, she turned back to her client. "So sorry, Mrs Wilson. I'm going to have to reschedule. Next week, perhaps?"_

_**Don't let Aster out of your sight, **__he had said. __**Consider leaving town for a week or so.**_

_That was advice she certainly intended to follow._

_Just in case._

_Because life without Aster was unthinkable._

=/=/=

Closing my phone, I went about my rounds. There was still the afternoon to get through, before the action tonight. Four hours to think, to mentally prepare, to go over what needed doing. To refine my plans.

I just hoped that, between my knowledge of the setting, and Contessa's bullshit hax powers, we could pull off this attack.

I hoped that the Undersiders would be willing to listen to reason. I _thought_ they would be, but I could not be _certain._

I hoped that Director Piggot would be willing to hold off on taking certain steps until I told her to go on with them.

I hoped that a hundred unknown factors wouldn't conspire to trip me up at the worst possible time.

_Fuck this behind-the-scenes puppet-master bullshit, _I told myself. _It's too hard on the nerves._

And then I grinned. _But __**fuck,**__ it's a rush when I pull it off._

=/=/=

"_**We'll be landing shortly."**_

_Dragon's voice brought Paige out of a light doze; she had been curled up on one of the seats, more comfortable than she had been in __**months**__, just enjoying the trip. The meal pack had been delicious, and Dragon's company welcome without being intrusive._

_She rubbed sleep from her eyes. "Oh – ah, do I have to put that gag back on?"_

_Dragon's voice was warm and friendly. __**"No, you don't have to. You will be met by soldiers with ear protection, and escorted to soundproof accommodations."**_

_Paige was heartened by that, but still more than a little unhappy about the way they obviously saw her. "Don't they __**know**__ I can't just take control of someone like that?"_

_Dragon chuckled. __**"I know it, dear, and you know it. But the military is all the same. They have their procedures, just in case the threat is worse than it first appears."**_

"_I'm sorry. I shouldn't be taking it out on you."_

"_**Don't be. I rather enjoyed the trip."**_

"_Oh." Paige was unaccountably touched. "Thank you. So did I."_

_And then the craft tilted and the turbines roared, and Paige knew that her journey was coming to an end. What was to happen to her now, she wasn't sure. But virtually __**anything**__ would be better than that cell, and that courtroom, and that gag._

=/=/=

The afternoon wore on. Ground floor, second floor, third floor. Check each one in turn, then back down again. For some, it would be unutterably boring. For me, it was the job.

Fourth period ended at one forty; I encountered Taylor leaning against the wall, relaxed, eating a pita wrap as her fellow students went one way or another.

"Sorry I didn't give you a chance to have your lunch," I commented, leaning against the wall beside her.

She swallowed a bite and grinned at me. "It's okay. I've missed lunch before."

_Because bullies took it off her, no doubt._

"Well, it's good to see that you're getting something into you now. Looking forward to this afternoon?"

She nodded seriously. "Oh yeah."

"Good. I'll see you around." I traded a fist-bump with her, and moved off.

=/=/=

_Eidolon stepped out of a Door and looked around. The Door blinked out of sight a moment later._

_It was a small town in the middle of Nebraska, official population three thousand; currently, from the flames engulfing some buildings, the smoke rising into the air, and the screams he could hear here and there, he figured that number was falling rapidly. He noted the window frames gaping empty in the surrounding buildings; Shatterbird had already done her work._

_Without moving from the spot, he activated the power-finder power that he had drawn on first, on Security's advice. He was looking for specific powersets; those powers owned by the Nine, to be exact._

_The current roster was Jack Slash, Bonesaw, Mannequin, Crawler, Shatterbird, Hatchet Face, Burnscar, Siberian and Winter. He knew their powersets well enough; two, he knew better than he had a week ago._

_Some would say he was being foolhardy in taking on an S-class threat all by himself, with no backup. But in his thinking, backup was just as likely to get killed, or become a hostage. On his own, he had no-one to worry about but himself._

_His second power was a suite of gravity-control effects. One minor capability was to suspend small particles in the air around him, so that nothing bigger than a foot across could reach him without moving one of them._

_He felt the particles being crushed, moved, directly behind him, and he vaulted skyward, instants before the Siberian would have gutted him. His power-finder still had not located Manton, but it was closing in._

_Unfortunately, so was Shatterbird._

_He had traded out his mask for a non-glass based one for this very fight; when she sang, and spears of glass pummelled him, the gravitic force field surrounding him bounced them away or shattered them. He saw her gathering the glass together to form a massive hammer that would surely crush him flat._

_But then his other power detected his target._

_He sent one pulse of gravity at her, increasing her weight dramatically, to drag her to the ground in an undignified heap. And then, he was flashing away, toward where his target hid._

_Manton was in a van, which started up as he arrived. This did him little good, as the van promptly lifted into the air, under Eidolon's direction._

_Shatterbird was still regaining her scattered wits; none of the others could fly, and Burnscar could only teleport through fire. He had Manton where he wanted –_

_The Siberian popped into existence on top of the van, and launched herself at him. He knew his force field was as nothing to her, that she would be on him in a second –_

_He didn't have a choice. He exerted his power._

_Her clawed nails were barely six inches from his face when the van suddenly imploded, crunching down to a fraction of its size. She vanished; red leaked from the crumpled metal._

_Grimacing at the near-fatal slip, Eidolon let the remains of the van and William Manton fall to the ground. He looked around, casting about for Jack Slash._

_He detected a force impinging on the surface of the force field at almost exactly the same time as his power picked up the man's powerset. As he turned that way, he saw Jack Slash himself, taking a running dive off the roof of a convenience store._

_Eidolon smiled grimly. __**It's almost as though he knows what I intend to do.**_

_Shatterbird was up by now, and streaking in for an attack run; Eidolon smashed her back with another gravity pulse that knocked her a mile through the air. Then he went after Jack Slash._

_The power picked him up, but he was nowhere in sight. But then, Eidolon noted an open manhole cover._

_**Gone to ground, like the rat you are.**_

_Eidolon pinpointed his location, then concentrated on the area of ground above him. His force field faded away for the moment as he exerted another aspect of the power._

_Abruptly, a fifty-foot-wide circle of ground __**dropped**__ six feet._

_Jack Slash's powerset flickered, and then winked out._

_Just as Eidolon was bringing his force field back up again, there was a sudden agonising pain in his right forearm and chest; he looked down, and a gleaming blade was buried through his arm, and into his body. The body armour he wore had done a little to stop it, but it was deep enough to be serious._

_He realised that, had he brought up the force field a moment later, he would have been dead. As it was, he knew he was badly injured._

_**I could go now, leave the Nine to be mopped up,**__ he knew. __**Slash is dead, or nearly so. Manton is dead.**_

_But deep down, he knew that Bonesaw could perform miracles, or close to, with her bio-tinker skills. If they dug up Slash's body ..._

_**I have to finish this.**_

_Blood was running down his stomach, soaking his clothes. The pain was horrible._

_Shatterbird was coming at him again, glass spears seeking his vitals. The force field wavered; his powers were great, but having a blade sticking into one's vital organs tended to have an effect on one's concentration._

_He dismissed the power-seeker power and pulled out another from the vast library now open to him. Shatterbird flew at him, just as another blade was barely deflected by the force field._

_Flinging out his left hand, he sent a small dark bolt flying at the Middle Eastern cape. She jinked to avoid it; it abruptly blossomed into a night-dark sphere, engulfing her. The sphere gradually cleared, remaining only as a grey haze, encapsulating Shatterbird, frozen in time. A variant on Grey Boy's power, but it would only last a few minutes._

_Mannequin shot another knife at him, then dodged another bolt, which promptly encapsulated a mailbox. The blade very nearly penetrated his force field._

_Eidolon gritted his teeth, and called up a personal biokinesis power, not unlike Aegis'. As it settled over him, he turned off his pain awareness in that area, and redirected blood flow. The bleeding eased to nothing, and he pulled the blade from his arm and body without any more trouble._

_With the lack of pain, he managed to shore up the force field, so that Mannequin's next two blades glanced off without any particular effort from his part. A gesture caught the white-armoured figure, and crunched it down to a size that, while spherical, was less than ideal for supporting life._

_**Sphere, indeed.**_

_He set the blood to clotting and the flesh to knitting; this was in no way the first time he had ever been injured, but usually he'd had three powers to work with, and doing this with two was a little difficult and time-consuming._

_And then, with a roar, Crawler's immense bulk clambered up on to the roof over which he had been hovering – and, he realised, slowly drifting down toward, as his concentration was distracted by other matters – and leaped up toward him. The massive body landed directly on top of the force field bubble, and pushed them both down toward the roof. Arms and legs – he really wasn't sure which was which, and Crawler probably wasn't either – flailed at his protective sphere._

_The building burst into flame beneath him; Burnscar must be somewhere around the area, he realised. The heat began to get uncomfortable, and he was already dividing his attention too many ways at once. He dismissed the biokinesis, and pulled up simple regeneration; the pain returned, but he felt the wounds healing at a considerably increased rate._

_He couldn't throw Crawler off of him, but he could move sideways with the grotesquely misshapen villain's mass still draped over the top of his force field bubble. He could vaguely hear Crawler laughing, and making some sort of vile promise about what he was going to do with Eidolon's body._

_And then he saw who he was looking for. The last three members of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Bonesaw standing next to Winter, holding her hand. And standing just a little way away, Hatchet Face._

_As he watched, Winter unslung a high-powered rifle from her shoulder. His force field was already stressed enough by Crawler's ongoing assault, the strain of lifting the gross body, the heat of the fire ... he could not be certain that it would deflect a shot from the rifle._

_He rolled the sphere, dropping Crawler on to the roof of the burning building. Bellowing with rage, the nigh-invulnerable cape smashed through the roof and into the inferno below. The force field ramped up again, just as Winter fired. The bullet struck the force field, smashed through, but was deflected just far enough to miss his head._

_She did not get a second shot._

_Reaching out and rising upward, Eidolon took hold of both Winter and Hatchet Face. He slammed them together hard enough to break bones, then brought them over the top of the building where Crawler was just now getting to his feet. Deliberately, he moved them into the fire, into contact with Crawler himself._

_Winter would normally have been able to withstand this easily; however, Hatchet Face's power nullified hers, and so she felt the full heat of the fire._

_Likewise, Crawler had been feeling no particular urgency, until all of his power was stripped away. He tried to surge away, break away from the suddenly unbearable heat, but a gravitic fist gripped him and held him in place._

_And then Eidolon dismissed the regeneration ability; his wounds were not yet healed, but they had closed, and that was all that mattered. He called up an ability not unlike Burnscar's. The fire below began to burn hotter, and hotter, and hotter._

_When fire investigators finally delved through the wreckage of this building, they would find three charred skeletons; two would be recogniseably human, while the third would be monstrously inhuman._

_Turning away from the funeral pyre, Eidolon searched for the pyrokinetic and the bio-tinker who had brought terror and death to so many, at the behest of Jack Slash._

_They were nowhere to be seen._

_He called up the power-seek ability, and searched for Bonesaw and Burnscar in that manner._

_And then he coughed. Something tickled at the back of his throat, and he coughed again, a fine spray of red in the air._

_**She's released a pathogen of some sort.**_

_Immediately, he pulled up the biokinesis ability, setting his cells to finding the invader, casting it out, rebuilding the parts of his lungs that had already started to disintegrate._

_Burnscar stepped from cover and launched a bolt of fire; it engulfed the force field, temporarily blinding him. The heat was immense; he felt sweat springing out all over his body._

_He responded by rising upward, out of her range. Out of the range of Bonesaw's pathogens. Once he figured he was high enough, he opened the bubble, let himself breathe untainted air, allowed the biokinesis power to finish fixing the damage done by Bonesaw's hell-plague. His arm and chest still pained him, but it would take too long to fix that, too. He had to get the last two members of the Nine before they spread more death and destruction._

_Re-establishing the force field, he made it airtight. It would only give him a few minutes of breathable air, but this would allow him to use his third power for something other than healing the disease._

_The time limit made him realise that Shatterbird's timer must be running down. Fighting her as well as these other two might become just a little ... pressing. Especially if he wanted to take Bonesaw and Shatterbird alive._

_He swooped down, using his finder power to locate their powersets. Bonesaw was hiding in one of the houses, while Burnscar lurked close by. Neither was in his direct line of sight. Well, no matter._

_Coming to a hover over the house where Bonesaw was, he lifted the roof off with sheer brute power, not bothering with finesse. Bonesaw looked up, apparently halfway through crafting some monstrosity, melding several of the unlucky victims of her plague together._

_Eidolon only had fractions of a second to understand this before a grotesque amalgamated figure bounded from hiding, up on to the wall, and then directly at him. A rat-like face, drooling mouth, mismatched teeth, clawed hands, attacking the force field bubble with mindless ferocity._

_He sighed, called up the power he had used to entrap Shatterbird, and shot the bolt at Bonesaw. The rat-like thing jumped into its way; the dark sphere enfolded it instead. Bonesaw tried to dodge the second shot, but failed; she was likewise imprisoned._

_Fire bloomed around him. Airtight, the bubble stood up to the heat much better, but the air inside was running out. He turned, saw Burnscar, and shot a bolt at her. She evaded, stepping into one fire and out of another._

_This was getting annoying, and time consuming. He dismissed that power, and called up one he'd never tried before. It was a Shaker ability, fairly widespread. Within the area of effect ... fire did not burn._

_Abruptly, all combustion in the area ceased. Burnscar looked around, shocked. She tried to call up flame, and only succeeded in making vague, meaningless gestures. So stunned was she that she did not notice when he picked up a car and dropped it on top of her. She barely had time to scream._

_It was getting a little hard to breathe in the force field sphere. He called up another Shaker power, one used to transmute gases, and reverted all the carbon dioxide within the force field back to oxygen._

_He caught a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye, and saw Shatterbird, clear of her timelocked prison, begin to fall before re-establishing her glass wings. He slammed her to the ground hard enough to break bones, then called up the time-sphere power again. She was enfolded and trapped once more._

_A widespread biokinetic Shaker power cleared the plague from the area; he simply located and catalogued everything under a certain size, and killed everything that was inimical to human life. Then he went back to where Bonesaw and her homonculus were trapped._

_With a gesture, he freed the minion. With another, he crushed its skull._

_Small robotic spiders launched themselves at him; he destroyed them, one at a time, until the last was gone._

_Able to let down the airtight force field now, he surrounded Bonesaw with it, then dismissed the timestop field. She struggled against it, against the invisible shackles that he placed on her. Making part of the field semi-permeable, he pushed his finger through until the tip rested on her cheek. The advanced biokinetic powers that he had taken on neutralised the pathogens and toxins with which she had infested her body. They also put her into a deep, dreamless sleep._

_He re-checked the area for pathogens, cleared it of the few that remained, then put another force field around Shatterbird before dropping the timestop field. She tried her hardest to murder him with shards of glass, but he filled her air-tight forcefield with anaesthetic gas._

_She passed out fifteen seconds later, and he was able to send her to sleep as well._

"_Door."_

* * *

_The Eidolon that stepped through the Door into the Cauldron base, towing the unconscious bodies of two members of the Slaughterhouse Nine, was not the same as the Eidolon who had stepped through not so long before. He was weary, bedraggled, wounded and bloody. But he held his head high with pride._

_Alexandria met him, her eyes searching his._

"_Manton?"_

_He shook his head. "Sorry. Matters were taken from my hands."_

_She pursed her lips. "Pity. Well, you got those two, anyway."_

"_Why did you want them, anyway?"_

"_I didn't. Security did. I imagine that Bonesaw may have useful insights or capabilities ..."_

_He snorted. "If anyone will trust her near them."_

"_You have a point. But we have her now. Maybe with her mind wiped ..."_

"_Right. But what about Shatterbird?"_

"_And there you have me. Well, we have accommodations for them both. When we speak to Security tomorrow, we will find out what plans he has for them."_

"_You think he's really got a plan that will stop Scion?"_

"_Contessa seems to think so. We'll just have to wait and see." She paused. "And in the meantime ..."_

_Behind his mask, he rolled his eyes. "Okay. Fine. I'll __**go**__ to therapy."_

_She gave him a small, tight smile. "Good."_

=/=/=

I leaned against the concrete wall bordering the steps, and watched Emma and Madison get into their respective family cars. It was three-thirty already; school was out.

The other students streamed past me, down the steps, free until the morning. I grinned; I kind of envied them. Life was simultaneously more complex, and much simpler, as a teenager.

Not that I would swap with them. I was long done with my teenage years.

If everything went right, tonight we'd be taking down a supervillain. If my plan worked, if everything went all right, Coil would not know a thing, not until it was far too late.

_Oh god, I hope everything goes all right._

* * *

Nearly all the students had left the building; I watched them boarding the bus, getting into cars.

"Hey."

I turned; it was Taylor.

"Hey, yourself."

"So, what happens this afternoon?"

"We show up at the PRT building, I present the plan, and we go kick some supervillain ass. Oh, and you get to meet a celebrity."

She blinked. "What, really? Who?"

I grinned; she wrinkled her nose at me. "You suck."

"Look at it as something to look forward to."

"You still suck."

"Maybe. So, you gonna head home and tell your Dad about your thrilling adventures?"

"I can head home, sure. But he won't be home till about the time I need to get to the PRT building anyway." She glanced at me. "After five, right?"

"After five," I confirmed. "It'll look a bit suss for you to be hanging around with the security guard after everyone else has gone. You'd better get home, get freshened up, have a feed. Get some tucker into you."

She was startled into a laugh. "Get some _what?"_

I blinked, swore at myself. "Uh, food. It's an Australianism I once heard." Overrriding my – Michael Allen's – natural vocal reflexes, I put on a broad Australian accent. "It's the way Aussies speak – mate."

She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god," she managed, between muffled giggles. "That sounds so weird. How do you manage that accent?"

"I, uh, knew an Australian one time," I replied, carefully letting the American accent take over again. "You pick up things like that."

"Oh my god," she repeated, shaking her head. "You have _got_ to do that in front of Dad. He'll fall over laughing."

I shook my own head. "It's just a thing I picked up, is all. Now, you'd better get home. But I'll see you at the PRT building after five."

Taylor grinned. "I'll see you there – _myte."_ She did her best at an Australian accent, and I didn't correct her. We bumped fists; I watched her walk down the steps and join the group at the bus stop.

"That was a bloody stupid slip," I told myself. "Don't do it again."

"Don't do _what_ again?" asked a cool voice from behind me.

This was definitely my day for people to sneak up behind me. I turned, already putting a smile on my face. "Ah, yeah, I kind of forgot to fuel up your car," I confessed. "Sorry. I was a little annoyed at myself for that."

Pulling out my wallet, I extracted a ten dollar note and offered it to her.

"Keep it," she told me, amused.

"No, really," I told her, pulling out her car keys at the same time. "I really do appreciate the loaner."

She accepted the keys but refused the money once more. "I don't take money from friends, Michael."

"You're sure."

"I'm sure."

"Okay, no problems then." I put the money away again. "But I will buy you lunch sometime."

A smile blossomed across her face. "I can accept that, yes."

* * *

We relaxed, leaning against the wall. The last of Taylor's group boarded the bus. It drove away.

"So ..." she ventured. "You and Taylor drove into the city at lunch time, in my car. According to Mr Gladly, you were quite insistent that you both go."

I looked at her; she looked at me. We were more or less of a height. Her eyes were a cool blue-green.

"I had permission to go into town," I replied at last. "To go to the bank. Taylor hitched a ride with me."

"Although she had no permission."

"Danny said he was okay with it."

"After the fact."

I moved my head from side to side in a vague, almost-nodding fashion. "There is that, yes."

Her voice took on just a hint of sharpness. "Are you going to make me ask you outright, Michael?"

I sighed. "Gladys, we did nothing illegal." _Except break the speed limit, just a little, here and there, on the way._ "As to what we _did_ do ... well, I understand that Danny's arranged a little meeting this evening, to clear that up. You, me, Taylor, Danny."

She shook her head. "This secrecy ... there are several possible interpretations. One of which I refuse to believe altogether. Others which ... well, they are almost as difficult to accept." She looked at me directly. "And I happened to catch the news during the lunch hour. There was a bank robbery downtown, which just happened to be foiled. By a previously unknown cape."

Mentally, I winced. Gladys was no slouch at adding two and two.

I took a deep breath. "Gladys ... if it was just me, I'd tell you. But it's not. So ... tonight? Danny's place?"

"Certainly. What time?"

I grimaced. "There's the other problem. I'm not going to be available till late. Maybe nine, or ten. Call you?"

One of her eyebrows hitched up. "Really," she murmured. "You know, you're not helping _dispel_ my suspicions."

"Tonight? Please?"

She nodded, looking pleased with herself. "Tonight, then."

Slipping her keys into her purse, she headed back inside. I watched as the last students got on the next bus, then headed in myself.

=/=/=

"_Mom, can I talk to you about something?"_

_Carol Dallon looked up from a desk full of papers. "What is it, Amy? I'm busy."_

"_I want to move out of home. Just for a while."_

_Carol began to glance back down at the papers, then the import behind Amy's statement caught up with her._

"_What? Why?"_

"_Because I need to," Amy replied. "I'm not happy here. I've come to realise that. I need to get out, just for a bit. Clear my head."_

_Carol shook her head. "Where are you going? Are you quitting the team?"_

"_Not quitting. Just ... what do they say ... taking a leave of absence. And I've got a place to go to. It's all been arranged."_

_Carol stood up. "You've arranged this behind our backs? How long have you been planning this?"_

_Amy felt the first tears start to come into her eyes. Her voice took on a defensive tremor. "I haven't. But I spoke to someone today who told me I was burning out emotionally, that I needed to get away from my home environment. He was __**right**__, Mom. I __**am**__ burning out. It's getting harder to do the right thing all the time."_

_Carol stared at her. She had never seen Amy quite like this before. Her voice softened a little._

"_Where will you be living?"_

"_With a family called the Heberts," Amy replied. "There's a girl my age living there. Oh, and I'll be getting therapy, too."_

_Carol's voice was sharp. "What for, and who with?"_

_Amy's voice was firm, if not the steadiest. "Mrs Jessica Yamada, and what for is between me and her."_

"_So who was this person you spoke to, who organised all this?"_

"_He called himself Security."_

"_And how do you know he knows anything at all about you, or your position?"_

"_Well, you know that bank robbery that happened today?"_

"_The Brockton Bay Central, yes. I spoke to Victoria; she said a new cape helped capture the villains responsible."_

"_I was inside that bank. He walked in, and got me to walk out, just before it was robbed."_

"_That could be a coincidence."_

"_He also knows things about me, about Vicky, about you, that no-one else knows."_

"_He's a cape, then."_

"_No. That's the strangest thing. He let me use my powers on him, to make sure he was telling the truth. And he never told a single lie. And he's not a cape."_

_Carol was silent for a long moment. "So, on this man's word, you want to move out for a while, and get therapy."_

"_Yes."_

"_How long for, and who's paying for the therapy?"_

"_Maybe a month. And Mrs Yamada said she'd be billing the PRT."_

_Carol honestly did not know how to react. She didn't like or trust her foster daughter, but now Amy was __**offering**__ to move out of the house, to get therapy ..._

"_Hm. I'll talk it over with your father, and we'll need all the contact information. But if it all checks out, I can't see a problem."_

"_Thanks, Mom. You're the best."_

_Amy turned and left the room with a jaunty step, leaving Carol Dallon staring after her._

=/=/=

At five on the dot, I signed in the master keys, and closed Blackwell's door behind me on the way out of her office. I nodded to the cleaners on the way out, and then paused on the steps.

There was a van in the carpark.

A van almost identical to the one in which I had been abducted.

Coil should have been terrified to go near me again ... but what if he'd somehow caught wind of my shenanigans against him? My plan to spoof his power _should_ be in action, but if that had somehow backfired ...

He may have decided to simply kill me and suffer whatever consequences.

Or, I reasoned, the PRT may simply have sent a _real_ van to pick me up.

At that moment, my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"_Security?"_

"Speaking. Director Piggot?"

"_Yes. You should have just walked out of the school. There will be a van in the parking lot."_

"I see it."

"_Don't be concerned. This one is legitimate."_

"The last one _looked_ legitimate."

"_The driver is proof that it is legitimate."_

"Really."

"_Go and look."_

Moving cautiously, I edged up past the van, one hand on my baton, the other on my pepper spray, until I could see who was in the driver's seat.

Miss Militia leaned on the window sill and smiled at me. The scarf was pulled down from her face, making her just another attractive woman wearing military fatigues with a scarf around her neck.

"Hello, Mr Allen. It's good to meet you again."

I grinned back at her. "Yeah," I said into the phone. "That's proof enough for me."

I got into the van.

=/=/=

"_Vicky, could you do me a favour?"_

"_Sure thing, Ames. What's up?"_

"_I need a lift down to the PRT building." Amy paused. "Actually, you want to come with? Something about taking down a supervillain."_

_Glory Girl was immediately all attention._

"_You're kidding me. Someone invited __**you**__ to take down a supervillain, and not __**me**__?"_

_Amy grinned. "Actually, he did say, 'Oh, bring that loose cannon sister of yours too, if you think she can be trusted,' or something like that."_

_Victoria bristled. "Loose cannon my butt!"_

_Amy cleared her throat. "Six times, Vicky. Six times."_

_Vicky looked at the floor and mumbled something._

"_Sorry, what was that?"_

"_You suck."_

"_Or I can __**un**__invite you ..."_

"_Okay, fine, you don't suck."_

_Amy grinned; her sister stuck out her tongue at her._

_Vicky raised her voice. "Mom!"_

_Carol's voice floated down from the study. "Yes?"_

"_Amy and I are heading out for a bit. We'll be back later!"_

"_Okay. Let me know when you get back in."_

_"Sure thing, Mom." Vicky turned to Amy. "Okay, Ames. Let's go kick a supervillain's butt."_

_Amy grinned. When directed properly, her sister's enthusiasm could be quite impressive._

=/=/=

"So," I ventured, once we were on the road, "you've basically unmasked for me?"

"Well, you've more or less unmasked for everyone," she pointed out logically.

"Yeah, but ..."

"And besides," she added, "you already know more about me than anyone else does. If anyone knows who I am under the mask, you do."

I blinked. "That's ... a point. Thanks, Hannah. I appreciate it. This ride would've been a lot more nerve-wracking if I didn't know for a fact that I could trust the driver."

She gave me an odd look, which I didn't know how to interpret.

"You were really worried?" she asked.

"More concerned than worried," I admitted. "I mean, I was fairly certain nothing significant was going to happen, but there's a fair spread between 'nothing' and 'nothing significant'."

"Hm," she commented. "I never told you my name."

"Sorry. I show off when I'm nervous."

A slim eyebrow raised. "You don't look nervous."

"Trust me. Inside, I'm sweating up a storm."

She chuckled. "'Trust me'. People tell me you say that a lot."

"Another nervous habit."

"Ah."

"Also, because for people to _not_ trust me, and drop the ball right at the wrong moment ... urgh. All this work, undone."

"Work?"

I took a deep breath. "I'm trying to save the world. It's as simple as that. Also, trying to save as many people as possible."

"I'm not sure about the distinction, there."

I considered trying to explain. "Hm. Long story. Really long story. Maybe after all this is over, I can try to explain it to you."

"Is it really that complex?"

"No. There are very few people who will believe it. You might. I have to get to know you better before I decide on that one."

"Ah," she replied, apparently pleased. "Thank you."

"So everything went okay with Dinah?" I asked, more for anything to say than anything else.

"Totally uneventful," she assured me. "No-one even remotely suspicious showed their faces."

I nodded. "Good. That's perfect."

"Really?" she asked, frowning. "No attempt at all was made, and you say it's good?"

I chuckled. "Oh, one was made all right. It must have failed spectacularly."

She stared at me. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You will," I assured her. "Anyway, how did the mop-up at the bank go?"

"The dogs were retrieved without harm." She paused. "Hellhound, uh, Bitch, refused to give up the location of her other dogs, however."

I closed my eyes and hit the headrest with my head; a soft thump. "Dammit," I muttered. "I think it's at an unfinished construction site somewhere, not sure exactly where."

"Oh, we know where," she informed me briskly. "Tattletale told us."

I gave her a dirty look. "You were testing me."

"You seem to enjoy showing off your knowledge," she pointed out seriously. "It's in our best interests to be certain that you won't make up stuff on the spot."

I considered that. "Fair point. So, the dogs?"

"We've already sent people to make sure they're okay."

"Good." I settled back to enjoy the ride.

* * *

At that moment, she pulled up the scarf, just as the PRT building came into view. She drove around to the back, and into an underground carpark. In the cool dimness, we climbed out of the vehicle, and headed for the elevator.

"I'm guessing the Wards' base is two below this one?" I commented as the doors folded open.

"Yes, you are correct," she agreed. "If you want, when you have spare time, we can arrange a tour."

"I'd like to meet them," I agreed. "Listen, can you keep something to yourself?"

"Of course."

"If the steps I've taken work out, Leviathan will hopefully not hit Brockton Bay on May the fifteenth," I told her quietly. "But if he did, Gallant and Aegis would have been among the casualties. Or rather, that's one set of probabilities. If I hadn't been here to tell you this. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"You've changed things."

"Yeah. Lots of things. Hopefully for the better."

She stared at me. "How can you know this?"

I chuckled. "Long, long story."

* * *

The elevator stopped. We stepped out, walked the short distance to Director Piggot's office.

"Director," I greeted her. "Thank you for sending Miss Militia."

She nodded curtly. "Are you aware that Panacea and Glory Girl are here to see you?"

"Ah, excellent, they made it."

"You_ invited_ them?"

I shrugged. "I thought they might come in handy." I dusted off my hands. "But first ... Canary is somewhere in this building, right? I think I want to see her first."

=/=/=

"You'll need ear protection."

"No, I won't."

The PRT guard offered me the earplugs again. "Yes, you will. She's a Master. She controls people with her voice."

"She led a perfectly normal life for months before the incident. No-one else accidentally mutilated themselves. And it takes more than a word or two for her to gain influence over someone."

His voice indicated disbelief. "You can't know that, sir."

"Okay, fine, I'll take the damn earplugs."

I put them in; as I was cycling through the airlock-style door, I pulled them out again.

She was somehow prettier than I'd expected, even in the prison sweats. Her hair was a startling yellow, along with the feathers that stuck out of her scalp here and there.

As I entered the cell, she stood, looking apprehensive.

"Hi, Paige. I'm Mike. People around here call me Security. Are they treating you all right?"

She picked up a pen and marker board; obviously the main way she had of comunicating with ear-plugged guards. I waved it away. "Just talk. I'm good."

She spoke. Good god, her voice was _amazing._

"You're ... Security? Dragon told me. You're the one who got me out of prison, out of the trial."

I nodded. "That's me. I thought you might come in handy for a little job I'm planning. You game?"

She stared. "Why aren't you scared of me, of my voice? Everyone else is."

My voice was heavy with sarcasm; no doubt this cell was wired to a fare-thee-well. "Everyone else is a dick."

She laughed; she couldn't help it. "But how do you know –"

I grinned. "Let's just say ... I know things. I know what you said to your boyfriend, and why. And I know it would have been a travesty of justice to send you to the Birdcage. So I decided, when this came up, that what the hell, I'd help you out at the same time."

"But you don't know me –"

I raised an eyebrow. "I know you better than you think. And I know this. I know you're a good person, someone who would rather help than harm. Which is why you're here, instead of in a courtroom with your hands in buckets of containment foam and a horrible gag in your mouth."

She was silent, staring at me. I took a step forward. "Listen, we have to go places, but before we do, would you like a hug?"

She was hesitant at first, but then her arms were around me, and I was patting her gently on the back. Her shoulders shook, and I felt dampness on my shirt. That was fine; I just held her and let her cry.

* * *

Eventually, she pulled back, her eyes a little reddened. I offered her my handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"Feeling better?" I asked.

She smiled wanly. "Yes," she whispered.

"Excellent," I told her. "Now, I personally know you aren't about to try to Master everyone here, but not everyone else does. So let's keep your dialogue to a minimum for the time being, okay?"

She nodded seriously. "But they aren't about to let me out of this cell."

I chuckled. "Let's see about that."

There was an intercom button beside the door. I pressed it.

"_Yes?"_

"I'd like to come out."

"_So come out."_

"With the prisoner."

"_I can't authorise that."_

"Call someone who can."

We waited. A few moments later, the intercom buzzed. _"Security?"_

"Ah, Director. Yes. I'd like to bring Canary in on this. That is, out of her cell."

"_Out of the question."_

I sighed. "Director, I know for a fact that she won't cause problems."

There was a long pause. _"How certain are you of this?"_

"Absolutely."

"_Then come ahead. But if there's any problems –"_

"There won't be. She's already promised to be quiet."

"_Very well, but against my better judgement."_

"You won't regret this."

A sigh, rendered into an electronic crackle. _"I already do."_

A few moments later, both doors opened at the same time. The guard gestured us out, keeping a watchful eye on Canary. I allowed her to go first; wide-eyed, she stepped from the cell. I followed.

"So," I said briskly to the guard. "Where are you keeping the Undersiders?"

* * *

End of Part Twenty-One


	22. Chapter 22

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter 22: Trolling for Fun and Profit

* * *

Just a Little Earlier

* * *

_Brian paced back and forth._

_He was angry and confused. In the aftermath of the failed escape from the bank, they had been arrested, searched and handcuffed, as expected. But he had watched the PRT soldiers carefully extracting the dogs from within Bitch's monster creatures; he had also observed the officer on site asking Rachel for the location where she kept her other dogs._

_Resentful and hostile, Bitch had refused to speak; however, unexpectedly, Lisa had volunteered the information. Brian hadn't even known she _**_knew _**_where it was. Bitch had glared at Tattletale for the remainder of the trip, when she wasn't looking back over the tailgate at the truck following them, the truck containing her dogs._

_On arrival at the PRT building, another series of surprises; they were not separated, they were not processed, and the room they were ushered into looked more like a conference room than a cell. There was a table, comfortable chairs, bathrooms, a counter with a sink, a coffee urn and cookies, and even a sofa in the corner._

_Under the watchful eye of two soldiers, a tech had attached remote cameras so that every part of the room was under observation. Then their restraints had been removed, and they had been left alone in the room._

_Regent had colonised the sofa; Lisa had sat in one of the chairs, chin resting on crossed arms, staring into space. Bitch had been restless, angry, twitchy, until the next visitor. A soldier had escorted a young woman into the room; she was carrying a cardboard box, which she set down on the table. Glancing shyly at Bitch, she had retreated from the room, along with the soldier._

_The box contained a nest of rags, which in turn contained a puppy, which had sat up and yawned as the door closed. Also in the box was a small packet of puppy chow._

_Rachel had immediately commandeered the puppy; sitting cross-legged on the floor, she had examined it minutely before acknowledging reluctantly that it was in good health. Then she had commenced teaching it basic commands._

=/=

_The teenage girl walking away from the bus stop did not draw many glances. She wore a heavy coat over some sort of tights, with running shoes on her feet. A backpack of some sort, empty by the look of it, was slung over one shoulder. Her hair was bundled up under an oversized baseball cap, under which she wore large sunglasses. Her hands were shoved into her pockets; had anyone been looking closely on the bus, they would have seen that she had gloves on._

_No-one had paid that much attention. She was tall for her age, but even with the coat, it wasn't hard to tell that she was fairly skinny, with no real curves to speak of. She was just another teenager, in a city replete with them, doing nothing out of the ordinary._

_The fact that she kept her head down and collar up more or less hid her features from everyone around her; no-one took much notice of this, either. Many teens were runaways, or had other reasons to not want people to remember their faces._

_She walked up to an alleyway, and entered it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The buildings were tall, and the alley narrow, and so it was dark in there. Anyone standing on the street would be hard put, in the full glare of the afternoon sun, to see more than a couple of yards into the alley._

_Abruptly, a cloud of bugs swarmed into being around the mouth of the alleyway, swirling thicker and thicker in a tight column. People noticed that. Some edged away, others brought out their phones to take pictures._

_The teenage girl who stepped from the cloud of insects wore a full-body costume of some dark material. Her eyes were blank, yellow. The face of the mask resembled an insect's mandibles. No-one took much note that she carried a bag over one shoulder; this one was somewhat fuller than the one that had been carried by the anonymous teenage girl, a few moments earlier._

_People made way for her as she strode down the pavement, trailed by the swarm. More photos were taken. A few people recognised her, whispered to each other, but did not approach her. Capes tended to get that sort of respect in costume; the better-known and more popular ones were occasionally asked for autographs._

_Weaver was not well-known or popular yet; this, and the implicit menace of the following swarm, kept people at bay._

_In time, she supposed, she would earn their trust, their gratitude._

_In time, she would be stopped for autographs._

_Just not today._

=/=

_Alec relaxed on the sofa. It was a comfortable sofa, and he firmly believed in resting and conserving his strength whenever he could. Some called it laziness; he called it common sense._

_They were in the shit; that was a definite. But for some reason, their captors were giving them the velvet-glove treatment, and he fully intended to enjoy it while it lasted. And if they slacked off a little more, there might even be a chance to escape. So he'd wait, and watch, and bide his time._

_Growing up with Heartbreaker as a father had taught him that much, at least._

_Brian stopped pacing in front of the window, looking maybe ten storeys down at the street below. He thumped the thick polycarbonate with his fist, eliciting a dull _**_thump._**

_"You know, if you want to break through that and rappel down the wall, you're gong to have to hit it a lot harder than that," Alec commented idly. Lisa and Rachel hadn't even looked up._

_"Shut up," growled Brian, and went back to pacing._

=/=

_Taylor was still half a block short of the PRT building when her bugs detected an incoming aerial object. Turning, she observed Glory Girl, carrying Panacea, swooping toward the building that was her own objective._

_She quickened her pace; it did not seem likely that the Dallon girls turning up at the same time as her was any sort of coincidence. And it was after five now; if Mike was not already in the building, he wasn't far away._

_Even as she registered the thought, a van entered the underground garage on the far side of the PRT building. She could not be sure, but the passenger seemed to fit Mike's size and body type._

_Victoria and Amy Dallon entered the PRT building; a few moments later, she followed them in. As a sign of courtesy, she left the swarm behind to dissipate. As a habit of caution – Mike had counselled her in this – she kept quite a few of them in her hair, and inside the storage space of her costume._

_At once, she noted the armed and armoured guards in the lobby coming to a higher level of alertness. It was due to her, she supposed; although she was down in the PRT books as a 'friendly', not everyone would have gotten the memo._

_However, no-one stopped her as she crossed to the reception desk. Glory Girl spotted her and turned._

"_Hey, Weaver!" she greeted her. "That was awesome today, at the Brockton Central." She turned to her sister. "I can't __**believe** __you missed the whole show, sitting talking to some dumb security guard."_

"_Uh ..." began Weaver, but Panacea got there first._

"_Vicky!" she hissed. "That's who we're here to __**see!**"_

_Glory Girl blinked. "Security? You mean, that guy you were talking to? __Him? "_

_Amy nodded patiently. "Yeah. Him. So how about a little respect when you meet him this time, huh?"_

_The receptionist cleared her throat. "Ah ... ladies? You can go up now. Take lift number three."_

"_Uh, I'm here to see Security too," Taylor told her hastily. "I'm Weaver."_

"_Ah, yes," the receptionist replied with a polite nod. "You're on our books. Go on up."_

_Weaver hurried to catch the other two; she entered the lift just before the tinker-tech doors began folding together._

"_You know when I said I took down Lung with help?" she commented as the lift began to ascend._

"_Yeah?" replied Glory Girl._

"_He was the one who helped me. So yeah, respect is in order. Okay?"_

"_Shit, sorry. Okay. No problems."_

_Taylor didn't know whether Glory Girl was sincere in her apology, or just saying the words. But the fact that she said it was good enough, for the time being._

"_That's okay. You'll see."_

_The lift came to a stop, and the doors opened. Miss Militia was standing there, apparently unsurprised at their appearance._

"_You're right on time. Come with me."_

=/=

_Rachel leaned back against the wall, the puppy sleeping in her lap. She concentrated on it, stroking its fur. It centred her, calmed her. Under her hand, the soft warmth of the sleeping puppy awakened an answering warmth in her heart.._

_She didn't understand it, didn't understand why they had left the puppy in the room. But she didn't __**need** __to understand it; holding the puppy in her arms, feeling its heart beating next to hers, she was as close to happy as she could get, these days._

_The puppy rolled over in her lap, looked up at her, and yawned, tiny pink tongue curling back from minuscule white teeth. She stroked its silky ears; it licked her hand._

_Rachel's face softened, and she smiled._

=/=

Now

* * *

The three dogs looked up as I entered the small storeroom which had been set aside for them. Canary watched with some curiosity as I looked them over.

"Bentley ... Bentley ... Bentley ..." I muttered. "No, dammit, Bentley's a bulldog. These must be ... Brutus, Judas and Angelica."

Ears perked up, only one in the case of the terrier, and all three dogs came to their feet.

"Brutus, then ... Brutus? Here, boy. Here, Brutus. Come here, boy."

The large Rotti-cross came forward cautiously; Dropping to one knee, I offered the back of my hand for him to sniff. He did so, then allowed me to scratch him behind the ear. Evidently he liked that, as his tail wagged, and his foot thumped on the floor.

"How do you know his name?" asked Canary as I attached the lead to the mutt's makeshift collar.

"Same way I know a lot of things, Paige," I replied. Standing, I led Brutus toward the door. The other two dogs got to their feet and followed; I waved them back with firm motions. "No!" I stated clearly. "Lie down!"

Rachel had trained them well; they knew 'no' well enough, and although 'lie down' probably wasn't an order that they had been specifically trained in, it sufficed to halt their forward progress. We exited the room and I closed the door carefully.

"My whole thing here is that I know a crapload of stuff," I explained to her as we proceeded along the corridor, accompanied by an impassive guard.

"What else do you know?" she asked. "And how do you know it?"

"Two questions," Miss Militia observed as she met up with us, "that the Director would dearly love to have the answers to." She indicated the three teenage girls following her. "I understand these girls are here to see you?"

"Weaver, good to see you again," I commented dryly. "Glory Girl, Panacea, likewise. I believe you've heard of Canary?"

Of the three, Glory Girl recovered first. "Uh, yeah, of course," she responded. "But ... why are you leading a dog?"

"Because I'm about to go speak to the Undersiders," I replied. "Come on; we'll talk as we walk."

"You do realise," Miss Militia commented as we continued along, "that Director Piggot was under the impression that we were going to be having a meeting about a certain topic." She shot the younger women a significant glance.

I nodded. Brutus was starting to pull on the lead; it was obvious that he could smell someone familiar ahead. I tugged on it once, sharply, and he slowed down.

"They know about it, more or less," I told her. "I'm just on my way to talk the Undersiders into stepping up as well."

"Will you be able to trust them not to turn on us?" asked the flag-clad hero.

"Depends on what incentives I offer them, doesn't it?" I replied with a grin. "That would be a job for someone who actually knows how they think. I wonder who that might be?"

She gave me a very dry look. "Indeed. So ... what is the dog _for?"_

"A peace offering."

A makeshift security station had been erected outside the conference room in which the Undersiders had been housed; monitors followed their movements inside the room, and IR cameras could track them even into the bathrooms, following their images through the walls.

The guard turned as I approached; the senior soldier on site stood up.

"Sorry, sir, but no entry except to authorised personnel."

I glanced at Miss Militia. She sighed. "At ease, soldier. He's authorised."

"Yes, ma'am." He looked down at Brutus, who was standing at my feet, panting happily. "You want to take a _dog?_ In _there?"_

I nodded. "That ... would be correct. I want to take a dog in there."

He looked from me to Miss Militia. "Hellhound's in there. Do you know what she _does_ with dogs?"

"Better than you do, I suspect," I said bluntly. "But she won't. The odds are too great. It's a gesture of trust, from me to her."

Behind me, I heard voices being raised, and half-turned.

* * *

"So," Glory Girl observed. "You're Canary. _The_ Canary."

Paige nodded timidly. "Uh, yes?"

"Didn't you cause, uh, someone to ..." Panacea trailed off.

Canary lowered her head. "It was an accident."

"But how do you do something like that by _accident?"_asked the blonde teen. "I mean, seriously, was it a joke? Did you tell him one day to cut off his –"

"Hey!" snapped Weaver. "Leave her alone." She stepped up protectively alongside Canary. "Mike says she's all right, so that's good enough for me."

"She was _arrested,"_ pressed Glory Girl. "She was on _trial_. They were going to send her to –"

* * *

"Hey!" I snapped. "Victoria Dallon! Leave Paige alone! Or you're out of this!"

Glory Girl turned toward me. "But she –"

"'But she' nothing!" I told her forcefully. _"You_ started it. I'll finish it. One word from me, and you're out the door. Got it?"

She locked eyes with me, and I felt the stirrings of her aura. Canary and Weaver stepped away from her involuntarily. I held my ground, even though my every instinct was telling me to flee. At my feet, Brutus whimpered.

"_Got it?"_ I repeated.

Panacea nudged her, hard, and abruptly the aura dropped. "Got it," she mumbled.

"Good. Now play nice."

Turning, I approached the security station. The Undersiders were all on their feet, talking. Their voices came tinnily out of a speaker.

" _... feel that?"_ Grue.

"_I think it was Glory Girl."_ Tattletale.

"_What's __**she** __doing here?"_ Regent.

"_Guys, you know how I said we were waiting on someone to show up?"_ Tattletale again.

"_Yeah?"_ Bitch; short, curt, to the point.

"_I think they're here."_

"_Yeah,"_ replied Regent, _"but who?"_

I would never have a better cue than that. I opened the door and walked in.

=/=

_Lisa had gone over and over in her mind all the facts that she knew. Their capture had almost been preordained; they had been doomed from the start. Weaver's tricks with the bugs and the foam sprayers had been child's play to figure out, but only __**after** __the fact. But where did a no-name cape like Weaver, with only one other fight to her credit, come up with a tactic like that? How had she known that Grue would blanket the street with darkness?_

_Admittedly, that other fight had been against __**Lung**, and Weaver had come out of that smelling like roses as well. Better, in fact, than virtually anyone else he had faced in combat._

_She had wondered if Coil had set them up to be captured, if this was some elaborate ploy to get them off his books, but that didn't make __**sense**. __She knew her worth to him, how he was quite willing to kill her if she didn't play ball with his plans. Just to toss her and the Undersiders away for no good reason; it didn't fit._

_She had a dozen theories whirling around in her head, none of which were contradicted by the available data, most of them mutually incompatible. She needed a key, a solid fact, to make the theories work. It all hinged on whoever walked through that door next._

"_Yeah, but who?" asked Regent._

_The door opened, and Michael Allen walked in, leading Bitch's dog Brutus._

"_That would be me," he responded._

_They all stared at him as he dropped the lead. "Go on, boy," he murmured, and Brutus trotted over to where Rachel held the puppy, dragging the lead behind him._

* * *

_Lisa felt facts falling into place. Everything made __**sense** __now. The picture formed with dazzling clarity._

"_You!" she blurted._

_Allen strolled over to the table and leaned his hip on the corner. "Me."_

_Brian shook his head. "What are __**you** __doing here?" he demanded._

"_And why did you bring my dog back?" demanded Rachel, looking Brutus over carefully._

"_A show of good faith, of trust," Allen told her. "The others are being well cared for." He turned to Grue. "I would've been here sooner, but I had to finish work. As for __**what** __I'm here for ... well, I'm here to suggest that you help us take down your boss."_

_Brian started to speak, but Lisa got there first. "You told me we would speak again, and you knew it would be here and now. You knew we would be captured in the bank robbery. You knew about the bank robbery ... on __**Sunday**?"_

_He gazed impassively back at her. For her, that was as good as a neon sign. Irritatingly, he seemed to know that, and not care._

"_How the fuck did you know about the robbery before we did? I was only told of it __**Tuesday**!"_

_Conclusions were piling up. "You knew, you could have stopped it, you chose for it to happen, so that we would be captured!"_

"_Wait, what the fuck?" growled Grue. "He set us up?"_

"_Yes," Allen acknowledged. "All of that's true. I did it for several reasons. You were only involved in some of them. I knew you would not harm the hostages, so I felt safe in letting it go ahead. And I wanted you captured, so I could talk to you on __**my** __terms."_

_Lisa had her hands digging into her hair, pulling at her scalp. "But, but, but, how did you __**know**? __You're not a cape, you weren't informed by the boss ... you knew what he'd do before he __**did** __it! You went out with Weaver to fight Lung so you'd __**meet** __us! And you knew about the bank job __**then**! __Christ!"_

_She stopped, dropped in to a chair, shaking her head._

* * *

_Brian began to move toward Allen; the self-styled 'Security' had weight on him, but Brian was a little taller, a lot younger, and quite a bit fitter._

"_So tell me, what's stopping me from beating your face in for shopping us to the PRT?" he growled._

"_Nothing stopping you from __**trying**," Allen replied honestly. "But, let's see. I did you a solid with Lung, and you're not in a cell right now. And what if I told you I could talk to the PRT about cutting through the red tape and arranging for you to get sole custody of Aisha?"_

_Grue stopped his steady advance. "You could do that?" he asked hesitantly._

_Allen shrugged. "I could try. Can't guarantee anything. But if you happened to help the PRT take down a serious menace to the city ..."_

_Brian took his meaning. "Our boss. You were serious when you said you wanted us to help with that?"_

"_Sure," Allen told him. "Got a job that would be just your thing."_

"_So what do I get out of it?" asked Regent. "I couldn't give a damn about helping out __**my** __little sister."_

"_I know, Jean-Paul, I know," Allen told him. That jolted him just a little, Lisa saw. "But I'm not here to offer each of you a reason. I have a reason that should be good enough for each of you, but I want to present it to everyone at once." He looked at Lisa. "Can you verify that I think the reason's good enough?"_

_Lisa nodded. Her head was starting to pound at the migraine that was overtaking her, from the sudden and intense cognitive dissonance that she had suffered on encountering the revelations about Michael Allen. "Yeah," she told him. "You think they're good enough."_

_Grue nodded. "Okay, that's good enough for me. For the time being."_

_Regent shrugged. "Fine, I guess."_

_Bitch approached Allen. She looked him in the eye. "You brought my dog back. Did you tell them to give me a puppy?"_

_He nodded firmly. "Yes."_

"_Were you trying to manipulate me, make me feel better, so __**I** __wouldn't kick your head in?"_

_Lisa held her breath at that; she knew how violently Rachel reacted to the mere __**suggestion** __that she had been manipulated._

"_**Do** __you feel better?" he asked._

_Reluctantly, she nodded._

_His voice was firm, direct. His gaze never left hers. "I knew you'd feel closed in, trapped. I told them to give you a puppy. I told them that it would never be in better hands."_

_Bitch nodded, once. "Okay," she responded, then went back to where Brutus was sitting, waiting patiently._

* * *

_Lisa blinked once, surprised. Rachel's default mode was to lash out at strangers. But somehow Michael Allen knew how to speak to her, how to say the right things._

"_So, we're all agreed?" asked Allen. "You'll come along and see what I've got to say?"_

_Brian spoke first. "We will."_

_Regent had to have the last word, of course. "But we can't promise we'll pay attention."_

_Allen smiled slightly. "Oh, I'll try to make it interesting."_

_Lisa shivered. _**_That sounded ominous._**

=/=

I led the way from the room, the Undersiders following. Grue came first, then Tattletale, Regent and Bitch. She carried the puppy in her arms, with Brutus trotting at her heels, minus the lead, which she had unfastened from his neck.

"Let the Director know," I told Miss Militia. "We're ready to start the meeting."

She looked at me with concern in her eyes. "You realise that I'll have to report to her about the bank thing."

I nodded. "Yeah. Shenanigans have their price. I can live with that."

"Wait, what?" protested Weaver. "What about the bank?"

Miss Militia turned to her. "He knew about the robbery well in advance. He made us believe that he didn't have any details until right at the last moment. He let it go ahead; that's a felony right there."

"He also arranged for it to be _stopped,"_ Weaver pointed out.

"Setting you up to be the big hero of the piece," Miss Militia responded. "You did it very well indeed, I will admit, but the PRT does not react well to being moved around like pieces on the board."

I couldn't help it; I snorted out loud at that. Everyone looked at me. I chuckled, then shook my head. "Sorry, sorry. But if you're objecting to being manipulated on a grand scale, then ... heh. Sorry. Never mind. Whatever charges are levelled at me, I'll face them. Later. Right now, we have a supervillain to deal with. Shall we go?"

Miss Militia sighed. "Let's go."

=/=

We convened in another conference room, slightly bigger than the one in which the Undersiders had been incarcerated. Director Piggot and Armsmaster were already waiting; with them were Aegis, as well as a couple of high-ranking PRT officers.

There was a little shuffling around as we found our seats; I ended up with Canary on one side of me and Weaver on the other.

"I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here today," I began.

There was a quiet groan, then Tattletale's forehead hit the table softly.

"Sorry, sorry, always wanted to say that," I went on hastily. "Before we begin; two questions. Director Piggot, those surveillance requests I made. Are they underway?"

She nodded curtly. "No result. Neither of those people is on the grid, anywhere that we can find them." There was a tone to her voice that indicated that she at least suspected the truth.

I nodded. "That's actually a good thing, believe it or not. It means that it's working."

"What's working?"

"Before I answer that, how secure is this room?"

Director Piggot nodded to the guards standing on either side of the doors; they exited, and the doors locked behind them with a sharp _click_. She lifted the cover of a small metal box in front of her, and pressed a large red button. A familiar discordant hum filled the room.

"All anti-eavesdropping features are in place," she told me. "Now, kindly tell me _what_ is working."

I grinned and relaxed slightly. "If all goes right, I'm successfully spoofing a precog."

"Explain."

"Sure."

Standing up, I addressed everyone at the table. "Okay, we're here to take down Coil. He's a supervillain based here in Brockton Bay, yeah? Everyone knows that?"

"Uh, I didn't think he was all that big-league," Aegis commented.

"That was his general plan. He's actually got a fairly interesting power. But I digress. Let's lay out some general facts about Coil. Firstly; his secret identity."

"You're going to say that he's really Thomas Calvert," stated Director Piggot.

"Give the lady a cigar," I noted. "Also, the head of Fortress Constructions."

"Which is why you had me looking for both of those people," she responded. "But I still don't understand _why._ You mentioned a precog? Also," she added belatedly, "I'd like some proof before we condemn the man."

"Proof," I agreed, "is always good."

Pulling out my faithful voice recorder, I slotted in a card. Carefully, I ran it back a ways, then hit PLAY.

* * *

The room was silent, apart from the discordant hum; the recorded voices were clear, if a little muffled.

"_So you're the mysterious Security?"_

Piggot stiffened in her seat; I paused the playback and looked at her.

"That _sounds_ like Calvert," she said carefully.

I nodded, and unpaused it.

"_Yup. And you're Coil."_ It was my voice, and it wasn't a question.

"_Indeed I am. And you are at a crossroad of your life."_

"_Do tell."_

"_From here, you have three options. The first is that you agree to work for me, give me sole access to your talents. I promise, I can make you a very wealthy man."_

"_And the other two?"_

"_The second is that you work for me, involuntarily, by way of inducements. I pay you nothing. But as is the manner of such things, I would get less out of you than if you were willing. So I am reluctant to go down that path."_

"_Wow, your concern for my well-being is overwhelming."_

When he spoke next, he sounded a little irritated.

"_The third option, Mr Allen, is that you die, here, in this room, and no-one mourns your passing."_

"_Hmm."_ There was a pause. _"Actually, I have a counter-offer. A fourth option. But it's for your ears only."_

There was another pause, the sound of moving feet. A door closing. _"What's your counter-offer?"_ He sounded dismissive.

"_The fourth option, __**Mr Calvert**, is that I'm going to say two words, and you're going to let me go. Just two words, that's it."_

I stopped the playback.

* * *

"Satisfied?" I asked lightly, stowing the recorder back on my belt.

Director Piggot nodded, her eyes never moving from the recorder. "It sounds like him. How did you get that?"

"Sometimes I forget to turn it off at the end of the day. I had it in my bag when I was taken. I didn't bother telling them it was on, for obvious reasons."

She nodded. "And what were those two words that you said to him?"

I shook my head slightly. "Sorry. You're not cleared to hear them. Also, not necessary to the point of this meeting. I just needed to prove to you that Thomas Calvert is Coil. Armsmaster?"

The armoured hero reluctantly nodded. "It sounded like him, and there was no deception when he spoke."

"Okay then. Here's the big one. This is where you all need to pay attention. Thomas Calvert – Coil – is a precog. A very powerful one."

"Really?" asked Miss Militia. "He's never made many waves."

"Because he's cunning with it. His power is simple in execution, but has so many applications. What he does? He splits time."

* * *

There was silence, apart from the hum. And then Director Piggot spoke. "You're going to have to explain that a little more."

"Okay, the _effect_ goes like this. Suppose you can split reality into two separate tracks, which run concurrently, side by side. You're in both tracks, you can take entirely independent actions in each track. But you're fully aware of what's going on in both tracks at once. Something happens in one track you don't like? You drop that track, then split the other one."

Everyone was watching me intently. I went on. "It's how he made his money. There are so many ways to use this. Walk into a casino, split time, and in one line you put all you have on black, and in the other, all you have on red. Whichever one you win in, you drop the other one."

Tattletale stirred. I nodded toward her. "Exactly. You thought he had probability manipulation. Not quite. As a crime boss, he hires some supervillains. They say, we want to knock over a jewellery store. He splits time, in one line he says go, in the other he says no go. If it's a success, he drops the no go line; if it's a fail, he drops the go line."

Director Piggot's eyes were hard. "What are his eventual plans?"

"To own the city."

"_What?"_

"To own the city," I repeated. "He had plans to buy several of the mayoral candidates, and discredit the rest. He wanted your job; you'd either retire due to ill-health or you'd have a nasty accident someday. He could keep trying, you see, until he got the result he wanted."

Her eyes slitted; I went on. "At the same time, he's working on undermining all the criminal gangs in the city, until they either leave town or work for him. So basically, he'd have finger in every pie, licit and illicit, that has any profit available here in Brockton Bay. A good plan, really. It had a fair chance of working."

"Until you came along to put a spoke in his wheel."

"Basically. The bank robbery today was a diversion so that his men could kidnap a twelve-year-old girl and get away before serious resources could be diverted to finding her. That twelve-year-old girl is a serious precog in her own right."

"But if he's _already_ a precog –" That was Armsmaster.

"His plan was to drug her to the gills, get her well and truly addicted, then ask her every morning about potential threats to him and his plans. She only has a number of predictions she can make every day, so he was going to swap out timelines till he had all the answers he needed." My voice was flat. "He would call her his 'pet'. And if she withheld answers, he would withhold the drugs. Or the 'candy', as he called it."

* * *

Nearly everyone around the table reacted in some way to that. Even Regent blinked once or twice.

"You're talking as though this has already happened," Armsmaster commented.

"In a way, it has," I replied carefully. "I have some knowledge of future events. However, every time I take action to alter them, I alter what's going to come next. The Coventry dilemma. So I'm having to be very careful about what I tell people, and when."

"So, you were telling us about Coil," Director Piggot prompted.

"Ah, yes," I replied. "That's the business side of things. Now we get to the distasteful side."

_That_ got everyone's attention.

"Being a criminal mastermind isn't distasteful enough?" asked Miss Militia.

I shook my head. "Nope. Thing about Calvert, what the good Director there can attest to, first hand? He has no moral centre. No inhibitions. He does what he wants, what he can, and he cares nothing about other people. Not a goddamn thing. And he has ... habits. Tastes. Predelictions. Things he can indulge in, with his power, and never, ever get in trouble for."

Grue stirred. "You said it was precognition."

"It is. But he _experiences_ both timelines. As if he was really there. So if he does something in one timeline, then drops it, he still remembers doing it, in every detail. So. Tattletale. Have you ever had a meeting with him where he seemed to know more about what was going on than you thought he should?"

The masked girl nodded slowly, looking sick. She knew what I was going to say next. "You're telling us he ..."

"Yup. In one timeline he's having a nice friendly chat. In the other, he's torturing you for those same answers, to make sure they're the same. Really, it's ingenious. It ensures your loyalty in the harshest possible way, without losing your loyalty due to, you know, torture."

I paused, took a breath. "And he didn't stop with torture. Anything he wanted to do, if there was nothing going on that demanded his attention, he's probably done to you over the last year."

I looked at the other Undersiders. "Note that she's not the only one. Chances are, he's had each and every one of you abducted, and tortured or worse. To get information, or just for shits and giggles, ladies and gentlemen. Shits and giggles. Because he _can."_

Director Piggot's voice was harsh. "We get the message. He's a bad man. But it's not PRT business as to how he treats his underlings."

I nodded to her. "Sure. But I would not be at all surprised if he'd kidnapped _you_. Or even come to your house one dark night. Spent the night torturing you for information. About stuff he needed to know, that he was no longer in the loop for."

There was a long pause. The senior PRT officer turned to her. "There _was_ that security breach –"

She waved him away. "Yes. I _know."_ Then she looked back at me. "Okay, I'm convinced. We need to take him down, and we need to take him down hard. You no doubt have a plan."

"I have a plan," I agreed. "But we're not done with this briefing yet."

"We're not?"

"Nope. See, he's got a supervillain team living on base with him. _And_ a monster in the basement."

* * *

Again, silence fell as people digested my statement. Finally, Piggot sighed.

"I suppose you're going to have to explain that one to us."

"The Travellers are the team he's got on base," I clarified. "Plus Circus, on occasion. But it's the Travellers I'm concerned about. Four core members, a friend of theirs who doesn't get in on the action, and the monster. The leader's girlfriend."

"She's a Case 53," Tattletale spoke up.

"She is indeed," I agreed. "Unfortunately, she's incredibly dangerous. A-class to S-class dangerous. She's not quite Endbringer level, but she's capable of doing a lot of harm to a lot of people." I looked at Piggot directly. "If she gets out, she will do Brockton Bay, and the PRT, a catastrophic amount of damage."

"So how do we kill her?"

I took a deep breath. "Actually, I was thinking of curing her."

* * *

Again, silence, broken only by the discordant hum.

"You really like making those dramatic statements, don't you?" asked the Director sourly.

I shrugged. "Well, wouldn't you?"

"Fine. How do you intend curing her?" She nodded at Amy; all eyes turned toward the teenage biokinetic. "Is that why you asked Panacea along?"

Amy shrank in her seat. "I don't know if I can do anything for a Case 53 ..."

I shook my head. "You won't have to. You're there for the aftermath, to save her life after I have her powers neutralised."

"And how are you going to manage _that?"_ demanded Armsmaster.

I grinned at him. "Sorry, you're not cleared to know that."

He got to his feet. _"You will tell me."_

I shook my head. "No. I won't. _S-class threat._ Would you rather I _didn't_ have it neutralised?"

"Do you have the means to do that here?" asked Miss Militia.

"No. But I know how to do it." I looked over at Armsmaster. "I'm not going to tell you, because telling you would cause problems for everyone in the room. And I'm not going to do that. So let me do what I'm going to do, and you can do what you do, and no-one's toes get stepped on."

He remained standing; Piggot looked over at him. "Sit down, Armsmaster."

"But –"

"_Sit. Down."_

He sat.

I exhaled, and realised that I'd been holding my breath. "Right then. Now's the planning stage."

"Wait a minute," interjected Director Piggot. "How are you spoofing him?"

I grinned. "Suppose he has two timelines running, and in one of them, he's out and about as his normal identity, and in the other he's in his base. So you surveil the one you can see. And then, at the right moment, I tell you to take him into custody, tell him his cover's blown, his identity's uncovered. Run it online, everywhere, so even if he's not in custody, he sees that everything's over. But only if he's visible. In the one where we can't find him, we don't. Make it look like, in the timeline where he's out and about, and only that timeline, everything's crashing down around his ears."

She blinked. "He would revert to the timeline where it isn't, and then find out what's going on."

I nodded. "That's right. So, if we were in this room and you actually had eyes on him, I'd be telling you to do just that. But you don't have eyes on him, so ..."

"So he's already dropped the other timeline?"

"We're here, aren't we?"

"Fair point. Why do you want him in his base?"

Tattletale spoke up. "Because he's got it wired to blow, and if he's not there, he can remotely detonate it."

"And that's why." I grinned. "So. Tattletale, could you please provide us with a layout of the base?"

The blonde villain blinked. "Certainly. Do we have paper and markers?"

Paper and markers were procured, and she began to draw.

"Now," she began, "the first thing you need to know is that the base is built on two levels ..."

* * *

End of Part Twenty-Two


	23. Chapter 23

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: Assault

* * *

Lisa's drawings were quick and clean; she did a plan of the upper level, then the lower level. A side view gave us a good perspective on how it fit together.

"The vault door here; this is where the Case 53 is?" she asked, tapping the marker on the paper.

I leaned in. "That's correct," I replied. "There's two vault doors, one inside the other. Or maybe he hasn't had time to install the second one. I know that becomes a concern at some point."

"Is this person that dangerous?" asked one of the PRT officers.

I nodded. "She'll start out as an A-class threat, but escalate to S-class, given half a chance. Originally, she was a sweet young woman named Noelle Meinhardt, but then ..." I paused, thinking through my words. They didn't need to know everything, not right away.

"She made a bad choice, or rather, she was forced into a bad choice. All the Travellers were. She got powers, but they're unbalanced, and they're forcing her body into a monstrous shape. Upper body is human, lower body is a mass of flesh with heads, arms and legs sticking out of it. Roughly the size of a couple of elephants."

One of the officers looked thoughtful. "I seem to recall reports of something like that in New York, only smaller."

"You may well have," I replied blandly. "But here and now, unless handled very carefully, she's a menace. Coil may well try to turn her loose, set her against us. She could even break free during the fight. She _is _strong enough to burst through those vault doors, given enough incentive."

The other officer looked sceptical. "We've dealt with big and strong capes before. I fail to see what's so overwhelmingly dangerous about her."

I sighed. "Because she _eats_ people. Absorbs them directly into her mass. Worse, she can encapsulate a cape and spit out twisted clones who have variations on the powers of those capes, and are utterly inimical to them and all they love. Classic evil twins. Also, they have all the memories of those capes, and are quite willing to tell all and sundry their deepest, darkest secrets." I looked around the table. "Anyone here got secrets they don't want anyone knowing?"

Into the silence that followed, I added, "Plus, she's insanely strong, regenerates almost on the scale of Crawler, and can burrow underground. No doubt she's been shot in the head before. It didn't take."

The officer's voice was flat. "And you're saying we _shouldn't_ kill this thing."

"I'm _saying,"_ I told him, "that I can avoid all that hassle. Sidestep it. She's a _victim,_ not a monster. I neutralise her powers, send her and her friends back where they came from."

"And where is that?" he asked quickly.

"I'm sorry, but you're not cleared to know that," I replied firmly. "Or rather, more to the point, if I answered that question, it would raise others. And still others. We would be arguing half the night, and I really want to have this show ready to start by seven-thirty."

Grue tilted his head. "Why seven-thirty?"

"Because that's the time he set for himself, earlier," Tattletale told him. "So if the timeline split and his other self had other things to deal with, he would still know to be there at that time."

Her smug look became even more so as I gave her a nod of confirmation.

"So … what _are_ we going to do about this Noelle Meinhardt?" asked the Director.

"Two-stage plan," I told her. "Canary is here to keep her calm. You can do that, right, Canary?"

Paige nodded her head jerkily. "I – I can do that," she affirmed.

"Excellent. Second stage of the plan, I have her powers neutralised, then Panacea helps me get the core body out of that mass of flesh."

Amy blinked at me. "I can _do_ that?"

"Well, I bloody well hope so," I told her bluntly. "The majority of her body was created by her powers, and is maintained by them. Once the powers are gone, the extra body mass is going to be dying, but she'll still be attached to it. She's going to be in all kinds of shit unless we can cut her free. You're the only one I know who's got half a chance to do that. Think you're up to it? Save a life, give someone a second chance?"

Her nod was tentative, but it was there. "I can try."

"_Good_ girl."

As I turned back to the plans, I saw the slight flush of pleasure at this praise, and made a mental note to give her more in future. _Christ, do these jerks think that putting on a costume makes these kids into robots?_ I knew that, realistically, they didn't, but it sure as hell seemed like it sometimes.

"Okay," I asked. "Where's the armoury and the barracks?"

Tattletale tapped her nail on the sheets. "Here and here."

"Right. Okay, everyone, listen up. He's got about fifty or so men in the base. They're from all over the world, they're well trained, and they're loyal. They've got assault rifles with underslung laser mounts. These mounts generate a purple beam that can apparently cut through steel. They've also got superior body armour, maybe PRT standard, maybe better. It might even be PRT regular armour, repainted."

"Which would fit in with him being Calvert," commented Armsmaster.

I nodded, then looked at Grue. "How well does your darkness effect work against lasers?"

He shrugged. "If it's just light, it stops. If it's some bullshit pseudo-laser beam weapon, then I have no idea."

"As far as I know, they're just lasers. So you'll be our primary defence against those weapons. Weaver, if you can bring in a swarm, it would help if you could target anyone with a laser attachment on their weapon. Just in case Grue's darkness isn't as great a defence as I'm hoping it will be." I paused. "Also, if you can kill his computer as soon as we start our entry, that might help us out. A lot. He's got the place wired to blow and that's set up with a computer link, so if you can stop that, this would be handy."

Weaver nodded seriously. "Swarm, I can do. Computer, yes."

"Good. We'll do a pass over the base beforehand, so you can map out who is where in the base. Last minute intel is always useful."

"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves, here," interrupted Armsmaster. "You say Coil will be in that base, as well as his fifty mercenaries. Grue's darkness may or may not be able to stop their lasers, but those assault rifles will be firing real bullets, and advancing into that sort of defended position _will_ cause casualties. Do you have a plan for that, too?"

I nodded to him. "As it happens, I do. I'm just going to need something from you. A little Tinker-tech item, something highly miniaturised and efficient … which I seem to recall is your speciality."

"What would this item be?" he asked suspiciously.

Tattletale vented a _ha!_ which had everyone looking at her. I raised an eyebrow; she grinned that grin of hers and enlightened the room. "A loudspeaker. For Canary to use."

I nodded, then turned to the yellow-haired girl. "What do you say, Paige? Up for some crowd control?"

"Uh … one little problem with that," she ventured cautiously. "I can't really aim my power that well. If I'm using it, then everyone in earshot of my voice is affected."

Director Piggot frowned. "Improve the plan, Mr Allen."

"Ah," I agreed. "Let's see now." I cleared my throat. "'The PRT is your friend. Trust the PRT'."

No-one sniggered, or even smirked; I was vaguely disappointed that no-one got the reference.

"That will make _us _suggestible toward trusting the PRT, won't it?" asked Grue.

"Not if we target the lyrics a little more directly," Tattletale put in. "'Don't attack the PRT, or related forces', maybe?"

I reached out, grabbed one of the unused pieces of paper and one of the markers, and wrote several lines on the paper. When I was finished, I passed it around. A few minor suggestions were made, and implemented, but by and large, it was accepted. Paige accepted the paper, read it carefully, and nodded.

"This should work," she told me in that remarkable voice of hers.

"Excellent."

I looked around at the people around the table. "So, we have a plan of attack, then?"

"How do we get in?" It was one of the PRT officers.

"I know how," Tattletale told him, then turned to me. "But you knew that, didn't you?"

"I did," I acknowledged.

"You seem to be bypassing all the physical stuff. Why am I needed again?" asked Glory Girl.

"Well, we might encounter some locked doors on the way," I explained. "We could use explosives, but that's dangerous and time-consuming. Or we could have someone along who can rip them off their hinges. Think you're up to it?"

She smiled faintly. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Okay, now, as for the Travellers," I went on. "They're extremely dangerous in their own right. But if I give Canary two statements to make, they should stay out of it." I wrote the lines on another piece of paper. Canary took it, read them, nodded, and tucked them away as well.

"You're okay with this?" I asked her.

She nodded. "Sure. I'm used to writing my own lyrics, but I'll do my best with yours, just this once."

The joke was weak, but I chuckled; a moment later, so did most of the others in the room.

Regent spoke up. "So wait; what are me and Bitch supposed to be doing in all this? I notice we don't have some cute tactic attached to us."

I nodded. "Well, if you want to stay here, that's your choice. Or you can come along and make sure the mercenaries stay honest once we've taken the base."

"Oh, okay." He shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

I looked at Bitch, who was still holding the sleeping puppy. "Rachel?"

"I'll come along," she replied bluntly. "I never liked Coil. Now I _really_ don't like him."

"I can understand that." I looked at the Director. "So, do you have any questions?"

"Many," she responded, "but none that are relevant to the situation at hand." She nodded to the PRT officers, who gathered up Tattletale's plan of the base. It was remarkably detailed, even showing alternate exits. "They'll brief the men. We should be ready to go by your seven-thirty deadline."

She raised her voice. "Removing security protocols." A press of the button, and it clicked upward; the ever-present discordant hum died away, leaving an odd ringing in the ears. The doors clicked open and the guards entered; Piggot and the officers exited.

* * *

Glory Girl rose and rounded the table to start a conversation with Aegis; Panacea stayed seated. I watched as the blonde hero began speaking in what was apparently a vehement undertone; I couldn't hear the words, and I've never learned how to read lips, but the agitated gestures, and the occasional glances at Canary, clued me in on the subject.

I looked at Canary, who was studying her hands. "Are you sure you're okay with this? I know you don't like conflict."

"If it will save lives, then I can do it," she told me quietly. "And to be honest, the way Alexandria put it, I don't really have a choice."

I grimaced. "Sometimes, these people can be a little … heavy-handed. I'm sorry all this has happened to you. That you've been forced into doing this."

She chuckled nervously. "Don't be. It's not your fault. I should have been more careful with my word choice, back in the beginning of this."

"Hm," I mused. "Which reminds me. I need to have a word. If you'll excuse me?"

I rose from my seat. "Weaver, meet Paige Macabee. Paige, Weaver here took down Lung, not so long ago. I'm sure you'll find something to talk about."

Rounding the table, I moved toward where Glory Girl was speaking with Aegis. Sure enough, as I approached, she fell silent.

"What?" she asked.

My expression and voice were polite. "You were expressing an opinion that Canary should not be allowed on this mission; am I correct?"

Aegis looked startled; Glory Girl looked stubborn.

"So what if I was?" she demanded. "I'm allowed to have an opinion."

"Not if that opinion might cause you to hesitate for half a second before helping her out of danger, you're not," I stated firmly. "Besides, have you thought about how close you are to being in her position?"

Aegis frowned. "I think you'd better explain that."

"It's simple. Vicky, you and Dean have regular fights, right? Break up, make up, rinse and repeat."

She blinked. "How did you know ...?"

"I know a lot of things about a lot of people," I reminded her. "Now, about you and Dean ...?"

"Well, I really don't see what business it is of yours," she began defensively.

I raised an eyebrow.

Finally, reluctantly, she answered the question. "Yeah, sure, but all couples have spats."

"But _you_ have an emotion-affecting aura. What if it's affected him to the point that one time you tell him to 'go fuck yourself' and he _does?"_

She shook her head. "No, that's impossible. The effect of my aura wears off."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you absolutely _sure_ about that?"

"Sure I'm sure," she replied immediately.

I didn't look away. "Scientifically proven?"

"Well … no."

"Then theoretically it _could_ happen." I paused. "_Have_ you ever told him to go do something anatomically impossible?"

Her silence was as good as an affirmative.

I nodded. "Yup, thought so. Well, just keep in mind; Canary said just those three words. She didn't mean them, any more than you mean it when you say them to Dean. She would take them back in an instant. So don't be so quick to condemn her. In another time and place, it might easily have been you." I turned away, then paused. "Just remember; people in glass houses shouldn't kick dumpsters."

* * *

Leaving her staring at me, I strolled over to Rachel. She saw me coming, and held the puppy a little closer to her chest defensively.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to take the puppy away," I told her. "But it can't come on the mission, you do know that."

"Of course I know it. I'm not stupid. And she's a she, not an it."

"Oh, okay," I noted. "She's cute. What breed is she?"

"Ridgeback cross," she informed me at once. "She's been well cared for." Her voice held reluctant approval.

"Does she have a nametag?"

"Yes," she told me defiantly, "but I can't read it."

"I probably can't either, not until I put my glasses on." I did so, then peered at the tag. "Phoebe. Huh. A nice name for a dog."

"Phoebe," she repeated, then she looked at me directly. "You're not PRT. You're not as much of a dick as everyone else around here. People around here listen to you. _You_ had us captured. What's going to happen to me, and my dogs, after this, after Coil?"

"I can't guarantee anything," I told her bluntly, "but I am going to push for you to not go to prison. You just want to be left alone with your dogs. I think that can be done. Do you trust me to try?"

She frowned. "People don't just give you something for nothing. What do you want from me?"

I took in her wary look. This was a girl who had lived on the streets, who had seen far more of the seamier side of life than I had. A reasonable, friendly authority figure was probably even farther outside of her experience than it had been outside of Taylor's. As far as she was concerned, people never gave without demanding a price, and the price was rarely worth it.

"Nothing," I told her. Her wary look intensified, and I saw scepticism as well.

"No-one gives you something for nothing," she repeated flatly.

"How about this, then," I ventured. "I want you to stop doing crime. You train dogs better than anyone else alive. If you agreed to do that and, say, ran a dog shelter, stayed out of trouble with the law, that might be good enough for the PRT to leave you alone, to give you a pass."

Her wary look decreased, although it didn't go away altogether. "If they let me run it on my terms, I guess I could do something like that." _But I can't see it happening. _Her unspoken words were loud and clear.

I nodded. "If my plans work out, then I suspect that people will listen to me. If they don't … well, we'll have other problems to worry about. Really big problems."

She nodded in return. "Okay. I don't really trust you, but you haven't tried to bullshit me yet, so I'll go along. For the moment."

"I appreciate it," I told her frankly. Carefully, so as not to spook her, I reached out and scratched the puppy behind the ear. "I'm doing my best to make sure everyone gets as good a deal as possible, here."

"Why?" she asked bluntly.

"Because I can," I replied, just as bluntly. "I see you and the rest of the Undersiders, having to fight for everything. You didn't ask to be this way. You didn't ask for this life. I'm trying to change things, fix things. Help you. Help others."

"Like that Canary girl?" she asked, indicating where Paige was talking to Taylor. "She someone you're trying to help?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "She screwed up with her powers just once, and she was going to the Birdcage. Now she's not. Hopefully."

"You can't help everyone who got a raw deal," Rachel pointed out, with a great deal of accuracy.

"No, I can't," I agreed. "But the people I know of, I can. Or I can try."

"And assholes like Lung and Coil, you're taking down."

I was impressed; people dismissed Rachel Lindt as being brutal and unsubtle, but she was capable of analytical thinking if she tried.

"Exactly," I told her, "and precisely."

* * *

I left her communing with the dogs, and went back toward the table. Tattletale intercepted me.

"Okay, how the hell do you know how to do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

She indicated Rachel with a nod. "Talk to her. That's the longest conversation I've seen _anyone_ have with her, that didn't end in blows. Even _I_ have trouble talking to her. You don't _know_ her, but you know how she thinks. How?"

I thought about telling her, but decided regretfully that the risks were too great.

"I'm not trying to screw with your head," I told her. It was mostly true, too. "But … I know this stuff. And I can't tell you how. Not all at once. Because there's some serious revelations involved, and I don't know how well you'd handle it. You might take it in your stride, or you might go catatonic. And I don't want to risk that, not at the moment."

She shook her head in frustration. "There's something bigger there, behind what you're saying. But I just can't see it."

"Don't look too hard," I advised her. "But … if you have a yes-or-no question, ask. I might even answer it." She opened her mouth. I raised my hand. "_After_ we take down Coil. Okay?"

She closed her mouth again. "... fine," she grumped. "Okay."

=/=

The PRT truck was large enough inside to have a table with the base plans pinned down on to it. We were parked close enough to where Lisa said the base was, that Taylor could sense all the bugs within it, using her power. Even though I knew exactly how her power worked, even better than she did, it was still fascinating to watch bugs crawl over the plan, indicating exactly where everyone was in the base.

A big black beetle showed where Coil was; from its movements, he was apparently pacing back and forth in his office.

"What's up with him?" Alec asked, indicating the beetle.

"At a rough guess, in the other timeline, he's starting to feel the pinch. Maybe he's already foreseen being arrested, and he's trying to figure out what's different in this timeline." I paused; the beetle had moved to the side of the room. "Weaver, is he at his computer?"

"As best as I can tell," she informed me.

"Great. Time?"

"Seven fifteen."

"I think it's time we started the ball rolling," I suggested.

Armsmaster nodded. "I think you may be right." He looked around at the disparate group in the back of the truck. "One more thing. Rogers. Simons. Mayfield."

Three troopers stepped forward.

Armsmaster pointed at me, at Canary, and at Panacea. "You will each shadow one of these people. You will not allow them to come to harm. That is the entirety of your duty in this mission. Is that understood?"

All three men nodded assent, and the one called Rogers moved to stand beside me.

I went to protest, to tell him that I'd be fine. I knew I'd be fine, because Contessa wanted to talk to me on Friday. But then I had a thought. _What if I'll only be fine because this guy is there to protect me? _So I said nothing.

Glory Girl, however, chose to speak up. "I'm perfectly capable of protecting my sister."

"You might be needed doing something else," Armsmaster told her flatly. "We can't afford you getting distracted." He looked at me, and at Canary. "Any problems with this?"

I sensed that even if I had a problem, he wouldn't spend too much time thinking about it. "Nope, no problem at all."

Canary glanced at me; I nodded slightly. "I'm fine with it," she agreed.

"Good." His tone didn't change, but he must have opened a radio channel. "Armsmaster to all troops. Prepare to move in."

I turned to Weaver, and held out my fist. She bumped it.

It was go time.

=/=

The skeletal building towered over us as Lisa led the way to the high fence surrounding the construction site. A large sign on the fence caught my eye, the large lettering easily legible, even in this dim light.

"Property of Fortress Constructions," I murmured.

Beside me, Rogers had obviously read it at the same time. "After this, we're probably going to have to look at all the other Fortress properties around Brockton Bay."

I nodded. "Probably not a bad idea. Might want to pass that one up the chain."

There was a gate, secured with a chain and a padlock; Lisa pulled a keyring from a pouch on her belt, and opened the lock. The keys, as far as I could tell, all looked close to identical in the dim light. If that had been me, I would've been there ten minutes. _Super-intuition must be __**so**__ useful on occasion._

She turned and looked at me as she slid the padlock off the hasp.

"Yes," she told me. "It is."

Despite myself, I was momentarily startled, then I realised what she'd done.

"Smartarse," I muttered.

She grinned as she opened the gate.

=/=

Once everyone had trooped through, she closed the gate, hung the lock on the latch, but did not secure it. I took the moment to take stock of the area. Crushed gravel, lots of heavy machinery, and twenty storeys of unfinished construction above us.

Lisa, with Armsmaster closely shadowing her, led the way between the machinery to the base of the skeletal structure itself. Gravel crunched as we followed, Rogers shadowing my every move. We ended up, as I had known we would, at an unobtrusive hatchway, set in a concrete slab. A black and yellow sign indicated dire consequences for anyone opening it; Lisa found another key, and unlocked this one as well.

The sign on the hatch promised hazardous materials and noxious gases, and I could almost believe it; the stairs led down to what looked remarkably like a storm drain, and the smell wasn't so great either.

Armsmaster turned to Lisa. "If this is some sort of trick -"

I stepped forward. "It's not," I advised him. "This is the right place."

He turned to me. "You're sure."

I nodded. "I am. There's a barred metal door at the bottom of the stairs, then a long corridor."

Lisa gave me that how-did-you-know-that look again, then raised her voice slightly. "That's entirely correct. You'll be able to go side by side, but it'll be cramped. The room at the other end of the corridor will have a security camera and a door that's locked on the other side. One of Coil's men is on the other side of that door at all times, watching a monitor. No lights, and as little sound as possible."

The PRT troops had been issued with night vision gear; I wished I had some, but the truth was that I probably wouldn't have any idea of how to use it.

Armsmaster spoke up again. "I'll go first, with Tattletale. A soldier will escort each of the non-PRT personnel. Sergeant Andrews, you'll follow on with your men and the protectees. Leave two men behind to watch our rear."

Andrews saluted. "Sir!"

* * *

Lisa and Armsmaster descended into the darkness; he was using the night vision built into his helmet, while she probably used her intuition to not stub her toe in the dark. Off to the side, I heard Regent mutter, "Well, I feel useful about now."

Grue elbowed him. "You'd rather be in a jail cell right now?"

"I'd rather not be here."

"You volunteered."

"Not my finest decision, I'm beginning to realise."

Glory Girl tugged at Grue's arm. "Come on. They're waiting on us." She went down the stairs alongside a PRT trooper, and Grue followed with another one.

Rachel bridled as a trooper moved toward her. "Back off," she snapped. "I don't need you." He stopped, glancing at Andrews.

"She'll be fine, sergeant," I advised Andrews.

He nodded, then gestured to the trooper. "Leave her go."

The trooper stepped back. Rachel nodded; clipping a lead to Judas' collar, she urged him toward the stairs; he led the way, sniffing at the ground as he went. Brutus followed behind obediently.

Two at a time, we went down the steps, Rogers holding my elbow to steady me in the darkness. I had to admit, the PRT troopers had my respect; I had been fitted out in the largest set of body armour they could provide, and I was still fairly uncomfortable. If they wore this stuff on their day to day duties, they were tougher than I was. As it was, I was sweating by the time I got to the bottom of the stairs.

"Last step down, sir," murmured Rogers. Behind him, I could hear Simons and Mayfield walking Panacea and Canary down the stairs. I took the step, and reached out to feel the metal door, then the concrete wall beyond that.

We moved in as much silence as we could manage, with only the occasional scuff of a boot or the clink of a slung rifle on a buckle or something to break the sound of heavy breathing. I was sure we weren't all panting like steam-trains, but the closeness of the tunnel seemed to magnify even that minor sound.

Lisa hadn't been kidding. It was a long corridor.

I was beginning to wonder if we'd passed through the city limits when Rogers' hand tightened on my elbow. "Slow down, sir," he murmured in my ear. "We've reached the room."

* * *

He was right; the echoes had changed slightly, and I could feel the heat emanating from all the bodies in a fairly tight space. We stopped, less than six inches behind the people in front of us. I knew this, because I reached out and touched them. I had no idea who they were; I could see absolutely nothing. I felt a sniffing at my leg, then a doggy nose touched my hand. The dog – Brutus, I figured – licked my fingers, then moved on.

Behind me, I felt the closeness of the rest of our party as they also came to a halt. There was a long pause, and utter silence fell. It was so complete, complementing the utter blackness in which we were standing, that I actually heard the tinny sound of Rogers receiving a message over his helmet radio.

"Sir, we're about to open the door," he murmured to me. I could just hear the same message being reported to the others around me.

I nodded; he could see me, even if I couldn't hear him. "Time?" I replied.

There was a pause. "Seven thirty five," he reported.

"Good. Let's do this."

=/=

_Coil was confused. Events were not making sense. Things had started coming unravelled at around the time that the abduction was supposed to take place. In one timeline, he had sent out his men to do the deed; in the other, he had held them back. In both, of course, he had sent the Undersiders to rob the Brockton Bay Central Bank, as well as setting other villains to perform acts of mayhem around the city. The more disruption the better, to mask the kidnapping of a twelve year old girl from her school._

_Dinah would have known what would happen if she did not choose to go willingly with his men; her precognition would have told her that he had fully intended to order his men to perpetrate a massacre if she did not do as he said._

_But what had happened was somewhat different. His men had … disappeared. There was no call of distress, nothing. No disturbance at the school at all. So, in that timeline, he had gone to the PRT building to see what was going on. Discreet enquiries had left him none the wiser, and he began to suspect that something was up, that he was being stalled, stonewalled. He had left again, gone home, intending to try again the next day. But he thought he may have been followed, that there was a car tailing him._

_There was nothing connecting him, as Thomas Calvert, to the events; he knew that. But he was still nervous. So he decided to have a quiet night in. And then, right on the dot of seven PM, his phone beeped, showing an alert from his computer. Clicking on the alert showed that several automatic cash transfers had failed to go through._

_**What the hell?**_

_Going online via his phone was tedious, but he did it anyway. As he checked one account after another, the bad news unfolded. Each of his accounts had been frozen, even the ones that only had the most tenuous connection to him._

_And then, as he was trying to figure out what was going on, the front door was kicked in. Despite his protests, he was seized, handcuffed. Accused of being Coil. Accused of other crimes, ones he was sure had never been even detected._

_And then Emily Piggot walked in the front door. She stared down at him._

"_I knew you were scum," she told him. "But I didn't think it went this far." She handed over a document to the PRT officer in charge of the task force._

"_What's that?" he asked._

_She gave him a hard smile. "I know exactly what your capabilities are, Calvert," she told him. "And that document is a kill order. You're too dangerous to let live."_

_The officer's gun lowered toward his face; he begged, pleaded, threatened._

_The last thing he saw was the muzzle flash._

* * *

_The timeline closed of its own accord, and Coil was left sitting in confusion at his desk._

_**What the hell is going on?**__ he asked himself. __**What just happened?**_

_He was pretty sure he was free and clear in this timeline; the kidnap attempt hadn't even been made. But just to be sure, he checked up on the security systems in his house. Nothing; there hadn't even been an attempt to gain entry._

_**Might as well go home and get a good night's sleep while I try to work out what happened, **__he told himself. Splitting the timelines, he stayed in the chair while he got up and headed for his office door._

_He'd almost reached it when the computer beeped; a second later, so did his phone._

_Clicking on the alert tag, he saw the same thing that he'd seen before; his accounts had been frozen. He was being locked down. But this had happened minutes __**after**__ it had happened on the other timeline. Why the disparity?_

_He was still trying to puzzle that out when the alarms went off._

=/=

There was a crunch and shriek of tearing metal, and light flooded into the small room. Glory Girl stepped out into the dazzle, which was all I could see with my darkness-adjusted eyes, and I heard the meaty_thump_ of her hitting someone. But she must have been too late; there were alarms wailing in the base, even as we moved forward.

Over my head, I heard and saw a massive swarm of bugs also pouring out into the base; Taylor had gathered them over the last couple of hours, and they had accompanied us into the base on the ceiling. She had, of course, not needed assistance in the darkness.

Shouts of alarm sounded, changing to cries of pain in some instances. Shots rang out; I wasn't sure who was shooting, whether it was from our side or theirs, but this was rapidly getting out of control. Pushing through the crowd, I found Canary.

"Time to do your thing," I advised her. She nodded, pulled the first piece of paper from her pocket, and unfolded it. I handed her a torch that I'd found in a belt holder – the PRT had the _best_ utility belts! - and helped Simons shield her from the press of people. In the meantime, she took out the apparatus that Armsmaster had given her, and turned it on.

I had suggested a loudspeaker; he had gone one better. This device literally hijacked any sound system in its vicinity, taking it over for our purposes.

She began to sing; at first wordlessly, and then reading out the lines we had worked out.

"_Everyone aligned to Coil … lay down your arms … surrender peacefully … you will not be harmed … Coil has no money … his accounts have been frozen … Coil, do not resist … everyone aligned to Coil … lay down your arms … surrender peacefully … you will not be harmed … Coil has no money … his accounts have been frozen ..."_

Her voice was _gorgeous._ I wanted to listen to her talk forever.

The gunfire from outside petered out, then cut off altogether.

=/=

_Coil reacted at once to the alarms. He began to set up the self-destruct to the base on his computer, but then the screen flickered and went dead. Smoke began trickling out of the base of his computer. He stared, then pulled off a panel. Dozens of cockroaches and other bugs were busily gnawing at the wiring of the computer; as he watched, one sacrificed itself, short-circuiting the motherboard._

_In the other timeline, he dashed to the secret exit hatch in the back wall of his office. He hated to flee in such an ignominious fashion, but one of him had to survive, to get away._

_And then the sweet, impossible-to-ignore, voice came trickling out of the speakers. First, the sweetest of singing, wordless, gorgeous, amazing. And then the words. Telling his men to surrender, that he had no money to pay them. Telling him not to resist._

_**I'm not resisting,**__ he told himself as he levered at the panel. __**I'm fleeing. There's a difference.**_

_He got it off, ducked inside, and pulled it back into place. Grimly, he set off down the passageway._

_**Once I'm clear, I'll blow the place.**_

_In the first timeline, he didn't make it to the escape panel. He sat, waiting to be captured._

_It would be interesting to see who his captors were, before they died._

=/=

Rogers allowed me to risk a peek around the corner of the doorway. The base looked pretty well as I'd imagined it, though a lot less cave-like. It could have been taken from some sort of military base. All around, the mercenaries were laying down their arms.

Over the speakers, Canary continued to sing, reinforcing her commands from before.

"Anyone hurt?" I asked Andrews; Armsmaster and Miss Militia were already out in the base proper, rounding up the mercenaries.

"Just a couple of bruises, sir," he assured me. "They only fired a few shots before that Canary girl did her thing." He glanced up. "You might want to get back under cover, sir."

I looked where he was looking; a costumed man was standing on the opposite side of the atrium, on the lower level. A man in a top hat and theatrical mask. _Trickster._

"That's funny," I muttered.

"Sir?" asked Rogers.

"Trickster. He usually doesn't run solo. Pass the word to look out for the rest of the Travellers."

"Will do, sir." He touched the side of his helmet, and I heard him murmuring.

"Hey!" yelled Trickster. "You need to get the hell out before -"

Canary had been passed the word by Simons; she began to sing the second set of instructions.

=/=

_Francis was angry and frustrated. He had been visiting Coil's base, talking to Noelle, when the alarms started going off; initially, he had taken cover behind one of the larger crates till he saw how this came out._

_But Noelle was now no doubt agitated and upset, and it would take forever to get her to calm down again. And that singing was exhorting him to not fight, not resist._

_**I'm not in this for the money, **__he gritted. __**I'm in it for Noelle.**_

_The shooting seemed to be over; he came out into the open._

"_Hey!" he yelled. "You need to get the hell out before -"_

_The song changed. And he had no choice but to listen._

"_**Travellers, do not fight. Do not resist. We have a cure for Noelle, and we can send you home."**_

_And that got his complete and total attention._

=/=

**Timeline A**

_Coil scrambled along the escape tunnel. It led to an inconspicuous manhole half a block away, which could only be opened from the underside. Once he got out, he'd send a signal via his phone to blow the base. He really did regret the loss of the base, and of the Undersiders and the Travellers as assets - with Trickster and Noelle dead, he would have no hold over the latter group - but he would gain more minions._

_He would rebuild._

_The manhole was just above him. He started to climb._

_=/=_

**Timeline B**

_Coil was hustled out of his office by two PRT troopers. They had searched him, and relieved him of his gun and phone, but that was to be expected. His primary weapon now was his brain; he would garner as much information as possible, including how and why he had been uncovered, before he terminated this timeline._

_And then he came face to face with the very last man he expected to see._

"_Hey," Michael Allen greeted him._

"_What – you – what are __**you**__ doing here?"_

"_Taking you down. Making sure you're no longer a threat to my friends."_

_His tone was so matter-of-fact that Coil had trouble comprehending the words. He tried to reason it out._

"_But – I let you go. You assured me that you wouldn't hold a grudge."_

_Allen shook his head. "I didn't, and I don't. Not from that. I was planning to bring you down since, oh, last week. Because I knew you were going to try to take Dinah Alcott today. So I made sure you failed."_

_Coil stared at him. "But how could you -"_

_Allen leaned close. "The same way I know what your powers are. The same way I know you tortured me. The same way I know that whatever you're doing in the other timeline is doomed to fail."_

_He turned away, then stopped and addressed the guards. "Oh, and the zipper for his costume goes along the white snake. The tab's down near his ankle."_

_Then he headed for the stairs, moving down toward the leader of the Travellers, who was still standing near the vault door, not making any aggressive moves. Coil watched him go; his mind was spinning too hard to even begin to formulate a response. One thought was uppermost._

_**How does he **_**know****_ these things?_**

=/=

**Timeline A**

_Coil scrambled up the ladder to the manhole cover. He carefully turned the wheel which unlocked it. Pushing it up, he felt a gust of cool evening air. He began to climb out -_

"_Coil."_

_Spinning around, he stared at the woman standing there, holding the pistol almost negligently._

"_Contessa – I -"_

_Her voice was cool, detached. "I warned you. Told you it was your last chance."_

"_I – I -"_

_She fired, once. The bullet impacted just beneath his right eye-socket._

=/=

Flanked by Rogers and Armsmaster, with Glory Girl and Panacea following behind, I strolled along the concrete floor of the base until I was face to face with Trickster.

"In case you're wondering," I told him. "It's true. Every word. Noelle can be cured, and you can all go home."

He shook his head violently. "Coil was -"

"No," I overrode him, "Coil was _not_ finding a cure for her. He was holding her as leverage for you, until you outlived your usefulness. It's the way he works. Worked."

"You could just be saying that," he shot back.

I sighed. "Your name is Francis. The other Travellers are called Luke, Marissa and Jess. They're out and about somewhere?" I indicated toward the upper level. "Except that Jess is with Oliver in your apartments up there, and Noelle's in the vault. You were all setting up to play Ransack when the Simurgh happened, and you ended up in Earth Bet. Chris was killed when something fell on his head. One of you got a cut on the leg. How am I doing so far, Krouse?"

"What the _fuck?"_ he demanded. "How do you even know that?" He paused. "Wait, what apartments? What are you talking about?"

I paused. _Trickster rarely goes out on his own. He's here to visit Noelle. She's only just been moved in._

"Ah," I spoke in realisation. "You haven't moved in yet. You and the others are still based elsewhere, right?"

"Wait a minute," Armsmaster interrupted. "The Travellers are from _Earth Aleph?_ And they're _Simurgh victims?"_

"Check and check," I told him. "I propose to send them back there, so they won't cause any more problems here. Do you have an issue with that?"

He paused. "... actually, no," he admitted. "Although you still haven't told me how you're going to pull off that little stunt."

I grinned. "You don't need to know. Really, you don't."

"I'm getting a little tired of hearing that," he gritted.

"So, how's Dragon doing these days?" I asked cheerfully.

" … fine," he growled. "Keep your little secrets."

"Thank you," I told him sincerely. I turned back to Trickster. "So, as I was saying. I know a crapload about you. About what you've done, and what you were _going_ to do. I know you love Noelle. And I know you want to get her cured and get home. I can do both for you."

I paused. "Now, here's the thing. I can just do this, and wave you on your way. Or I can offer you a paying job, using your abilities, while you still get to go home and relax at the end of the day."

Trickster stared at me. "Do we all have to agree on one or the other?" he asked at last.

I shook my head. "Nope. I know, for instance, that Marissa hates the whole 'being a parahuman' thing. She'd be happy just settling down with no powers at all, right?"

Trickster paused. "Yeah. She makes no secret of it ... to us. But how do _you_ know_?"_

I shrugged. "I could tell you. But you wouldn't believe me. Anyway. Think about it. You don't have to decide one way or the other, not yet anyway." I indicated the door to the vault. "I need to talk to Noelle."

=/=

Trickster pressed the button on the intercom. "Noelle? How are you doing?"

A face appeared on the small screen; a brunette, in her late teens or early twenties. She looked strung out on drugs, though I knew that was not actually the case. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been quite pretty; with good makeup and a nice hairstyle, I figured that she could be stunning. But at the moment, her hair was straggly, her lips were chapped, and she had bags under her eyes.

"_What's happening, Francis?" _she asked. "_What were those noises?"_

"I … uh … something's happened, Noelle," he told her. "Things have changed. There's a guy here who's offering ..." He paused. "What was your name again?"

I rolled my eyes. "Sorry. Got ahead of myself. The name's Mike Allen."

"_What? Who was that?"_

I leaned into the pickup range of the camera. "That would be me. Sorry. Call me Mike. I'm here to make you the offer you've been waiting for since you got your powers."

Her voice was suspicious. "_What offer is that?"_

I wanted to grin, but she might not have taken that so seriously. "How would you like me to help take your powers away from you, permanently?"

"What?" blurted Trickster.

Noelle was silent for a long moment. "_What's the catch?"_

I shook my head. "No catch. It might be risky, given that we're gonna have to dig what's really you out of a mass of meat the size of a brontosaurus, but you _will_ lose your powers, and you _won't_ keep going the way you are."

"_But … Coil said ..."_

"Coil," I told her flatly, "couldn't lie straight in bed. The man was just holding on to you and pretending to look for a cure, when he could have gotten one at any time. But he preferred to have his super-powered minions. Me, I just want to give you a second chance."

Another long silence. "_I … just be careful. If you come in here … I might attack you."_

I nodded. "I know. So I brought along a friend. She'd like to sing to you, if that's all right."

Her voice was doubtful. "_I … guess?"_

I stepped aside, and pulled out earplugs as Paige stepped up to the intercom. "Everyone," I warned as I put the plugs in, "if you don't want to feel soothed down, cover your ears."

Paige opened her mouth, and the most amazing voice spilled out once more. Every time I heard it, it was like the first time. It was like she had all the positive aspects of the voices of every singer I'd ever heard, all at once.

She sang a lullaby, simple and sweet, her tones soothing and lulling Noelle. By the end of it, the girl's eyelids were drooping, and she had a faint smile on her face.

I looked at Trickster and the others. Everyone was still alert; no-one had opted to listen.

"Okay," I told them. "I'm going in there, with Panacea. I'll be turning off the camera feed once we're in there, and also the sound. I don't want anyone seeing or hearing some of the stuff that's going to be happening."

"Why?" asked Trickster. "What are you going to be doing?"

"You're not cleared to know that," I told him bluntly.

"That's not an answer," he snapped, sounding annoyed.

"It's all the answer you're going to get," I advised him.

He began to reply hotly, when Noelle interrupted him from the intercom.

"_Francis, let him do what he's going to do," _she murmured dreamily. "_I feel so good now. I don't want you to argue."_

He drew a deep breath, then stepped back. "Okay, fine," he growled. "But if she doesn't come out of this okay, you and me are going to have _words."_

I ignored the implicit threat; I had to concentrate on the matter at hand. "Open the vault door, please," I requested.

"Coil's the only one with the combination," he retorted, his voice sourly satisfied.

I turned to my PRT shadow. "Rogers, could you pass the word to get Tattletale here, please?"

"Someone say my name?" she asked, from directly behind me.

I yelped and jumped, then turned on her.

"Seriously?" I demanded. "Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?"

I had never before seen someone pull off a look of innocent smugness. "Didn't know I was going to be there, did you?" she grinned.

"It doesn't _work _that way," I gritted. "Okay, you know why I was going to get you here. Open the vault, please?"

"But of course," she replied, flexing her fingers as she stepped toward the combination keypad.

I held up a hand. "Just a moment. Panacea?"

"Here," she replied, stepping forward.

"Okay," I told her seriously. "This is it. You wait outside the vault until I call you in, all right?"

"All right," she agreed, with a serious expression on her face.

I paused, and looked directly at her. "Are you good with this? Am I putting too much pressure on you?"

She shook her head. "Oh, no. This is something different. Something interesting. And I'll be taking that time off, after. I'm looking forward to that." She offered me a slight smile. "Thanks for this. For everything."

I shrugged. "Hey, Noelle's not the only one who deserves a second chance, remember." I took a deep breath. "Okay, everyone, places."

=/=

Lisa's fingers danced over the keypad, then paused and looked at me. "Combination's done. All you have to do is hit the Enter key.".

"Got it," I agreed, stepping up to the vault door. Panacea stood back a little, flanked by Mayfield. Rogers went to step forward as well, but I held up a hand.

"Trust me, this is one case when less is more."

"I have my orders -" began Rogers.

I pointed at the vault door. "Inside there is an unstable monster, barely kept in check by the mind of a badly traumatised teenage girl. She sees guns, she just might snap out of her happy place. And if that happens, all you'll accomplish is to get eaten _first."_

Armsmaster came over. "What's the matter here?"

"He's trying to lock me out, sir," Rogers reported. "I won't be able to do my job from out here."

"Me neither, sir," agreed Mayfield, from beside Panacea.

"Believe me when I say that it's safer if Rogers stays out here," I told the armoured hero. "He will _not_ be able to protect me if she gets aggressive, and the sight of a guns just might tip the balance.". I paused. "Once it's done, and I call in Panacea, you guys can come in."

Armsmaster took a deep breath, not liking the situation. But I knew that his helmet-mounted lie detector was reporting to him the truth of what I was saying.

"Okay, fine," he growled at last.

"Thanks," I responded, and pressed the Enter key. The door _clunked_ as the locks disengaged.

I heaved it open, just far enough to squeeze through, then pulled it shut behind me.

=/=

The interior of the vault was bigger than I'd expected. The rotting-meat smell was something I had read about, but the reality was something else altogether. And Noelle …

She was a tiny extrusion on the top of the giant creature that would be called Echidna if it escaped. The dog-like heads snarled at me, but they were lackadaisical, almost asleep. The eyes that dotted the lower part of the body were heavy-lidded, some of them closed altogether.

"Who are you?" she asked dreamily.

I cleared my throat. "Noelle. My name's Mike Allen, and I'm offering to take your powers away, and send you home. Are you interested in this?"

She thought about this. "Oh, yeah. You said. Can you really do that?"

"If I can't," I told her grimly, "I'm gonna be really embarrassed in just a moment or two."

She giggled. "Go ahead then."

"One moment," I told her. Turning to the intercom panel, I hit the switches to turn off outgoing audio and video. Then I turned back to her.

"Ready?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Close your eyes and cover your ears, please."

"What, really?" she asked with a giggle.

I nodded. "Really. Please."

Obediently, she closed her eyes, and covered her ears.

I took a deep breath.

"Door to the Removalist."

=/=

When I had raised this topic with Contessa, she had initially refused to even admit to the existence of a cape who could remove Noelle's powers. I didn't blame her; for most capes, knowing there was someone out there who could simply take away that which made them special would be ... terrifying.

But I had argued the point; Cauldron, I reminded her, _told_ the recipients of new powers that if they did not fulfil their side of the deal, then the powers would be removed. As I recalled, Battery had raised the question of the powers having an off-switch, and she had been told that no, it was a cape employed by Cauldron.

Contessa had acknowledged the existence of the cape then, but had argued that revealing his existence was not worth the benefit. I insisted that it was. It was around about then that the question of clearance had come up; we argued through it.

In the end, I got my way, and a name; the Removalist. But this left me with a nagging question in my mind. _Can Contessa truly not use Path to Victory against me, or did she deliberately lose that argument?_

The question was still bothering me as I spoke the words.

For a long moment, nothing happened, and I thought, _Great, I've just made an idiot of myself._

And then the doorway opened in space, right beside me. On the other side was a well-furnished room, panelled in some dark wood; the walls were lined with bookshelves.

In a comfortable-looking armchair sat a tall, thin man, wearing what I pigeonholed as 'English-gentry' clothing. He was reading a book, but looked up as the portal opened.

"Ah, you're here," he observed. His accent was in keeping with his dress and surroundings; very British, with an upper-class smoothness to it. Carefully placing a bookmark to keep the page, he shut the book and put it on a side table. Rising from the chair, he stepped through the portal.

"Good evening," he greeted me. "This is the one you want … treated?"

"She is," I agreed. "Contessa told you I was going to do this?"

He nodded. "She advised me to be ready. Best step back. I don't want you to accidentally lose your powers as well."

"Oh, I don't have any," I assured him.

"What, really? Intriguing."

"Uh, can I open my eyes yet?" asked Noelle loudly.

"Not yet!" I shouted back. I gestured to the Cauldron cape.

He nodded and held out his hands. A shimmering field extended from each palm, merged into one, and then grew to engulf Noelle's bloated body.

"It's _so_ much easier when they're cooperative," he muttered, more to himself than to me.

The shimmering built to a crescendo, and then winked out.

"It's done," he advised me, stepping back into the portal.

"I, uh, thanks," I told him, then was distracted by a tremendous thump that shook the entire vault. Noelle's massive legs had failed; they had folded under her, and she had dropped to the ground.

"Noelle!" I shouted, looking back over my shoulder as ran to the communication panel. "How do you feel?"

"Help me!" she screamed. "It hurts! _It hurts!"_

There was no time to waste. I opened the audio channel again. "Okay, it's clear. I need Panacea, stat."

=/=

Willing hands heaved the door open, and Panacea came in. She was followed in short order by Armsmaster, Rogers, Mayfield, Glory Girl and Trickster. We watched in fascinated horror as outer-lying parts of the body began to crumble and dissolve away. And in the middle of it, Noelle – her original body – was in agony.

"I don't know what to do!" confessed Panacea. "I don't know how to fix this!"

"We have to get to Noelle," I told her. "She's what we've got to save. The rest of it doesn't matter." I went to the edge of the mound of dying flesh and tried to climb up, but handfuls of material, rotting as fast as I touched it, just came away.

"Oh christ," I groaned. "How are we going to get up there?"

Noelle screamed again.

"Holy shit," marvelled Glory Girl, looking up at the bulk of Noelle. "How the fuck do we deal with this?"

"Get me up there!" snapped Panacea. "I need to be able to reach her!"

"Okay, Ames, okay," Vicky told her. "Don't get your panties in a wad."

Hefting her sister, she flew up over the vast bulk of dying flesh. They were so small next to what Noelle had become. I hoped that Amy would be able to help her.

Trickster turned to me as I wiped the remains of bits of Noelle off on my pants legs.

"Fuck, is she going to be all right?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I thought it was going to be easier than this. I didn't realise how big she'd gotten."

The tone of the screaming changed; I shuddered. I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"So … she could _die?"_ he asked.

I nodded. "Hopefully not, but … yeah."

He turned his face toward me. I could not see his expression, but the venom was clear in his voice. "If that happens ... " He didn't finish the threat.

I didn't blame him, but as Rogers took a step forward, I held up a hand to stop him and Armsmaster both; the latter stood right behind the supervillain, halberd at the ready. Trickster didn't even know he was there; for a man in armour, Armsmaster could move very quietly when he had to.

I forced my voice to steadiness. "Her powers are _gone._ We have the world's best biokinetic working on her. If anyone can do this, Panacea can." _And if she can't, it might just destroy Amy's faith in herself._ But I couldn't dwell on that.

Things had gone silent where Panacea worked with Noelle. I didn't dare look that way; I feared the worst and hoped for the best.

More and more of Noelle's immense body was now disintegrating, crumbling away. I looked around as Glory Girl touched down with not one, but two passengers. One was Amy, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. The other was … I guessed it was Noelle, wearing Panacea's robes.

I slapped myself on the forehead. "Duh! I told myself and told myself, bring pants. So what did I forget to do?"

Panacea's voice was tired but amused. "Bring pants?"

"And the lady wins a prize."

Trickster interrupted; stepping forward, he pulled his mask off, uncaring that we could all see him. His face was swarthy, with a hooked nose. "Noelle?" he asked hesitantly. "Are you really all right?"

The brunette pushed back her hood. She was still looking pretty well wrecked, but there was colour in her cheeks now. She wasn't actually standing on her own, I realised; Amy was supporting her on one side, and Victoria on the other.

"I've been better," she admitted in a soft, low voice. "But I've been a lot worse, too. My legs aren't really working at the moment ..."

"That's because you've never used them before," Amy scolded her. "I just _made _them. You've got to learn to work the connections. Sheesh."

Noelle smiled at her. "... but, as I was saying, that's far preferable to being stuck like _that."_

Francis stepped up to her. "Please?" he asked Glory Girl. Vicky shrugged, and got out of his way. He put his arm around Noelle, helping to support her. She held him tightly.

I nodded. "Yes. Definitely preferable."

She looked at me, head tilted. "You're saying that like you know something."

I took a deep breath. "I know how it would have turned out if this hadn't happened."

Noelle swallowed. "Do I want to know?"

"You and a lot of others dead, Trickster Birdcaged, enslaved and then dead, the others back home." I shrugged. "This way? Everyone gets to go home."

"Except Cody."

Trickster stared at her. "Seriously? You're thinking of _Cody_ at a time like this?"

"He _was_ one of us," she replied defensively.

"He nearly got Marissa _killed_," he snapped. "He _did_ try to kill you!"

"As I understand, Cody _is_ a bit of a dick," I observed.

Panacea gave me a stern look. "Wasn't it you who was going on about second chances?"

Noelle nodded wearily. "And I've done far worse things than Cody has."

Leaning back my head for a moment, I closed my eyes. _What would Hope do?_

I didn't have to ask; I already knew. _Fuck._

I sighed. "Okay, fine, you got me. Could everyone leave the vault, please?"

"Why?" asked Armsmaster.

I drew a deep breath. "I have to deal with the Cody situation."

Not without several backward glances, they went; Panacea and Trickster supported Noelle between them.

=/=

I went over and turned off the sound again; taking a deep breath, I said the words.

"Door to Cody."

The Clairvoyant obviously knew which Cody I meant; the doorway opened into a barracks, a row of beds against a wall. A young man lay sleeping on the bed. He had Caucasian features.

I could see the light from the vault spilling through the portal, illuminating the barracks. We didn't have much time. I stepped through, into the barracks, hoping like hell that it would not close and strand me in China. Grabbing Cody by the shoulder, I shook him hard.

He came awake with a start, flailing at me. "Huh, what, who -"

I batted his arms away. "Sh! Cody. I can get you home. Back to Earth Aleph. Do you want to go?"

He was blinking, trying to bring his brain online. "Who the fuck are you?"

"A friend. I can bring you home. But you have to let bygones be bygones."

"What do you mean?" he demanded. I heard noises of people stirring. One man sat up and looked at us curiously.

"You have to leave Krouse and the others alone. Make up your mind, now!"

"That motherfucker!" He surged up out of the bed. I met him with a forearm to the chest.

"No! Leave it go, and get out of here … or don't, and stay."

People were climbing out of their beds now, approaching us. Someone called out a question in what I figured was Chinese.

He ignored it. "You want me to just forget what he did?"

"Just let it go, Cody," I urged him. "Start fresh." This was not the time and place for this argument.

An arm grabbed at me, and I pulled free. A fist swung out of the darkness, smacked me in the cheekbone. I staggered, saw stars. I managed to keep my feet under me, got my arms up, blocked the next punch. I got kicked in the stomach for my trouble; he'd only been feinting at my face. The kick really didn't bother me; the PRT body armour was good like that.

Then the lights came on. A loud, authoritative voice called out. I looked up; and saw the guy in uniform. Then I saw the rifle he was aiming at me. That was when I decided enough was enough and dived for the portal. The rifle went off, and I felt a smashing impact in my ribs. I sprawled on hard metal, trying to catch my breath, rolled over.

Through the portal, I saw Cody fight free of grasping hands. Another shot rang out; he jerked, blood spraying from a hole in his upper torso. And then he flickered,was unhurt, took two steps and dived through the portal. It closed before he hit the floor.

=/=

My heart was beating at about a thousand miles a second; I sat up, supporting myself with both arms. My ribs were killing me. "Fuck, I never want to have to do that again."

Cody started to get up, looking around in a daze. "What the fuck? Where is this place?"

"We're in Brockton Bay," I told him.

"Seriously? Place smells like a slaughterhouse."

"You're not far wrong there," I grunted, trying to get to my feet without further aggravating my ribs. I wasn't entirely successful.

He grabbed my arm, helped me up. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine," I told him. I mustered a grin. "Oh yeah. Congratulations, you've just been rescued."

Just at that moment, the vault door was pulled open, and Rogers burst in, followed closely by Armsmaster. "We heard shooting!" snapped Rogers, his gun tracking on to Cody.

Cody threw up his hands. "Wasn't me!"

"Hey," I broke in. "It's fine. Danger is over. Please vacate the premises."

"What just happened?" demanded Armsmaster. If I wasn't careful, I would soon have way too many witnesses in here. Too many questions to answer.

"I'll tell you outside," I insisted. "Please leave the vault."

Reluctantly, they left.

"And close the door!" I called. The vault door swung all the way shut.

"Wow," observed Cody. "Intense much?"

I grinned at him. "You just met Armsmaster. He kind of takes 'intense' and makes it his bitch."

"Right, right," he muttered, then pointed at the decomposing mass of what had once been Noelle. "And what the fuck is that?"

"That," I observed dryly, "is what was left behind when we fixed Noelle."

He stared. "Noelle's here?"

I nodded. "Her and Francis, yeah."

_"Krouse." _It was a growl.

I made my decision. It was obvious that Cody wasn't about to forgive and forget; nor, for that matter, was Trickster. "Okay, did you have any gear that you want?"

He blinked at me. "Uh, in my locker?"

I nodded. "Door, to Cody's locker."

The portal opened before us; I reached in, grabbed clothes, tossed them to him. There wasn't much there, but we got it all. The portal closed again.

"How the fuck did you do that?" he demanded, his arms full of clothes.

"You're not cleared to know that," I told him. "Door, to Brockton Bay, Earth Aleph."

Another portal formed. Beyond was a cityscape shaded by night. I nodded to it.

"Wait," he blurted. "That's _it?"_

I pointed at the portal. "_Home_. Did you want an engraved invitation?"

He took a step toward it. "The others; where are they going?"

I shook my head. "You're not cleared to know that either. Now, are you going or not?"

He stepped through. The portal closed behind him.

=/=

As I emerged from the vault, Panacea moved up alongside me; she had obviously noticed how I was favouring my left side.

"Did you get hurt _again?"_ she asked me. "What is it with you and your ribs? Is it some sort of hobby?"

"What happened in there?" interrupted Armsmaster. "What was the shooting about?"

I sighed. "The last Traveller, a kid called Cody, was in China, not by choice. I pulled him out, then sent him on to the Brockton Bay of Eath Aleph." They stared at me; I shrugged. "I needed him out of the way, otherwise he could disrupt some other plans I have running."

Armsmaster's voice was sceptical. "And China isn't far enough out of the way?"

"Nope. Earth Aleph might be, though."

He fixed me with what I presumed to be a glower. "And you got him from China … how?"

"Sorry," I told him. "Can't tell you that."

Panacea interrupted him. "Sorry, I have to deal with some fractured ribs and – what is this on your face? Did someone _hit_ you?"

I grimaced. "The Chinese, uh, objected to me taking him." A shrug. "Thus the shooting."

"You got shot, didn't you?" Amy accused me. _"Seriously?"_

"I got shot," I admitted reluctantly. "Must be what got my ribs. Good body armour, by the way. Saved my life, I guess."

Panacea laid her hand over the graze on my cheek. I felt the torn skin close, and then the ribs stopped hurting, just like that.

I nodded to her. "Thanks."

"Wait a minute," Armsmaster interrupted. "You went to China?"

"That's where he was," I responded.

"I just hope you didn't cause an international incident," was all he said.

"I might have; they seemed pretty upset with me," I admitted. "But if I can get the Travellers back to their world, even if the C.U.I. comes looking, they won't find a thing."

"I suppose," he admitted grudgingly. He didn't sound all that broken up about the C. U. I. not getting what they wanted.

I dusted my hands off. "That's settled then; good. Okay, time to get the rest of the Travellers home."

"How are you going to do that?" asked Armsmaster.

"Classified," I told him blandly. "Francis, Noelle, into the vault, please."

"What?" asked Trickster. "Why?"

"Earth Aleph?" I prompted. "You want to go home or not?"

"What about everyone else?" asked Noelle.

"It'll be taken care of," I assured her. "Come on."

I stepped back into the vault, with Trickster and Panacea supporting Noelle, following me.

"Uh, Amy, you can go outside now," I told the healer.

She shook her head. "No. I need to come along, make sure you don't get hurt again."

Which I considered to be a fairly specious argument, but it was a sign of initiative, so I let it slide. "Okay. Just one thing. What I'm about to do, no-one else can ever hear about. Okay?"

She firmed her jaw and nodded once. "Okay."

I took a deep breath. "Door to Oliver."

=/=

_Oliver looked up in shock. He had been sitting on the couch, watching TV, when a doorway opened in midair, right in front of him. And stepping through were Trickster and …_

"_Noelle?" he blurted. "You're … wow, what __**happened?**__"_

_And then two more people stepped through the portal._

_Things got a little confused after that._

=/=

"Okay," announced Trickster. "I think we're set." He had changed into civilian clothes; his mask and costume were hidden in his baggage. Everyone else was gathered around, also in street clothes.

I nodded. "No problem." Then I paused. "Just by the by; as you can see, I've had Noelle's powers removed. Anyone else want the same service, before I send you back?"

There was a pause, then Marissa stepped forward. "What … how does it work?" she asked. "Can you do it for me?"

I nodded. "We're just going to have to step into another room. And I'll have to ask you to close your eyes and cover your ears. Okay?"

"Okay," she replied doubtfully, then Oliver stepped forward as well.

"And me too?" he ventured. "My powers are more problematic than helpful."

"Sure," I told him. "Same thing. You can't see or hear what I do."

They both nodded in agreement; I led the way into what turned out to be Trickster's study.

=/=

Jess stared at Marissa. "Your powers are gone? I mean, _gone?_"

Marissa nodded. "I've been trying to make a sun for a couple minutes now. Nothing." A grin spread across her face. "Never again. Oh god, never again."

"Okay," I told them. "I'm gonna send you back now. Just remember; if you're interested in extra work as a parahuman, someone will come knocking on your door."

"Sounds good to me," Luke agreed. "Kickin' ass for a sweet paycheck."

"One way to put it," I grinned. "Okay. Where would you like to go?"

They conferred quickly. Francis turned to me. "Madison, Wisconsin."

I nodded. "Sure. Door to Earth Aleph, Madison, Wisconson."

The door opened. Francis nodded to me. "Appreciate the help. For me and for Noelle." He hefted his bags, tossed them through, picked up two more.

Marissa ran over and hugged me; I patted her back.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

I shrugged awkwardly. "It's all right. You better go; you might miss the bus."

She giggled and kissed me on the cheek, then ran back to grab her bags.

Oliver wheeled Jess toward the portal, but Amy told him, "Wait."

Curious, he paused, and she leaned over Jess for a moment. Then she murmured something in the brunette's ear. She nodded to Oliver. "You can go now."

He wheeled Jess through the portal, and looked back at me.

"Thanks, dude," he told me. "Really."

* * *

And then the portal closed, and there was just myself and Panacea in the room; she had reclaimed her robes from Noelle.

"Holy crap," she commented. "And I can't tell anyone what happened?"

I shook my head. "Not right away, no. Later on, maybe."

"Okay," she agreed. "I can live with that."

I tilted my head. "What did you just say to Jess?"

"Oh," she confessed. "I told her that I'd fixed the nerves in her back. She's going to need serious physiotherapy, but she'll be walking in six months."

"Huh," I commented. "Nice one."

She smiled.

=/=

The PRT transport pulled up outside the Hebert house. I got out, and helped Taylor and Amy out; both were in civilian garb. Taylor was wearing her mask, which she took off as she got out of the truck. I'd had to give back the body armour, which was a little bit of a wrench, but it was so much easier to move and breathe without it.

Taylor led the way up the path to the front door; she skipped over the bottom step, and I waved Amy ahead of me. The front door opened, and Danny stood there.

"Danny, this is Amelia Claire Lavere," I told him. "Amy, this is Danny Hebert."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Hebert," Amy told him politely.

"Come on in, come on in," he invited, and we all trooped up the steps and in through the entrance hall. I closed the door behind me.

"Come on," Taylor told Amy, "I'll show you where you'll be sleeping." They thundered up the stairs; I grinned as the ceiling shook and dust drifted down.

"Believe it or not," I told him, "she's here for peace and quiet."

He quirked a smile. "Well, I've always heard good things about her. So we'll try to give her as normal a life as possible while she's here."

"That's exactly what she needs," I assured him. "She'll be seeing a therapist to deal with the worst of her problems, but here and now, just having people who treat her as a normal person, who welcome her into their home, that's what she really needs."

He adjusted his glasses. "Well, it's been a while since we had two teenagers in the house, but I'm sure I can manage."

* * *

Just as I was shaking his hand, the thundering herd reappeared, hurtling pell-mell down the stairs; at the bottom of the steps, it resumed the form of Taylor and Amy.

"So, Amy, do you like the accommodations?" I asked politely.

She nodded and smiled, eyes bright. "Yes, Mr Allen. Thank you." She turned to Danny. "And thank you for putting me up."

He shrugged awkwardly and patted her on the shoulder. "I'm just glad I can help," he told her. Raising an eyebrow, he added, "Dinner's almost ready. Who wants some?"

As we all headed to the kitchen, I remarked, "I hope you made enough. I've heard these teenage girls can eat you out of house and home."

Amy poked her tongue out at me.

=/=

_Director Piggot put her phone on speaker. "Report."_

"_**The assault went off without a hitch," **__Armsmaster replied. "__**Coil was captured, and the dangerous Case 53 was … neutralised without incident."**_

"_How exactly was she neutralised?"_

"_**I do not know,"**__ confessed Armsmaster. "__**Mr Allen played another of his little tricks, and caused Ms Meinhardt to lose her powers."**_

"_Are the Travellers in your custody, at least?"_

"_**... no. Only Trickster was on site. In addition, Security revealed that the Travellers are natives of Earth Aleph, and that they were brought here by the Simurgh."**_

_Piggot blinked. "Dear Lord."_

"_**Precisely. So when he undertook to send them back, I agreed."**_

"_He __**sent them back**__? To __**Earth Aleph**__? How?"_

"_**The means are unknown,"**__ Armsmaster told her._

"_Perhaps similar to the other matter?"_

"_**I was thinking the same thing," **__agreed Armsmaster. "__**If he is allied with them -"**_

"_He spoke as though he was not, if you recall," Piggot reminded him. "But if they have given him access to how they get around ..."_

"_**And can neutralise the powers of capes at will ..."**_

"_Then yes, kid gloves. Very much kid gloves." She paused. "Anything else to report?"_

"_**Yes, actually. We spoke before he left; he made strong recommendations that the Undersiders be given as much freedom as possible without actually letting them go free and clear. He stressed that each of them had their reasons for being criminals, and if approached correctly, they might be willing to consider changing sides." **__He paused. "__**Also, Canary performed flawlessly; I consider that she was a major factor in reducing potential casualties to nil."**_

"_Just as Mr Allen suggested," the Director observed._

"_**Indeed. He recommends, and I concur, that she remains with us, as a paid civilian contractor rather than a prisoner. She has, after all, just helped prevent a potential S-class threat from attacking the city."**_

"_So you believe Mr Allen's analysis of the situation?"_

"_**Implicitly."**_

"_Indeed. Thank you, Armsmaster."_

_Piggot hung up the phone._

"_Well," she said out loud to the empty room. "We'll do it your way for now, Mr Allen. We'll see where that takes us."_

_Leaning back in the chair, she took off her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes._

_**Listen to me. Talking to myself. I **_**must**_** be tired.**_

_Putting the glasses back on, she leaned forward again, and perused the next item of paperwork._

_There was more to do before she was finished tonight._

* * *

End of Chapter Twenty-Three


	24. Chapter 24

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four: Fallout

* * *

Danny glanced at me as he served out the food. "So when were you going to call her?"

"Call who?" I asked, collecting a pitcher of juice from the fridge.

"Gladys Knott, that's who," he reminded me.

"Oh crap," I exclaimed, perfectly in sync with Taylor. We looked at each other and laughed briefly.

"Okay," I told her. "I'm older than your _dad_. I've got a right to be absent-minded. What's _your_ excuse?"

She gave me an innocent look. "Taking down supervillains is hard on the brain?" She raised an eyebrow. "And anyway, aren't you the one who's supposed to know everything? What are you doing, forgetting things?"

"It's a very sad state of affairs," I told her solemnly. "I have a condition that's only recently been diagnosed. We call it CRAFT disease."

Amy had been looking back and forth at the banter, as if not quite sure whether she was allowed to join in.

"Craft disease?" she asked in a puzzled tone. "I don't think I've heard of that one. And I didn't see any evidence of a disease when I checked you over this afternoon."

I caught Danny hiding a grin; he knew where this was going, even if he didn't know exactly what the punchline was. "You wouldn't have," I assured the biokinetic, allowing my own grin to show. "CRAFT stands for Can't Remember A Frickin' Thing."

Danny and I burst out laughing; Taylor got it a moment later, and joined in. Amy's eyes and mouth opened wide in mock indignation, then she started laughing too. "Oh, _you_," she told me, as severely as she could while still giggling. "That was _mean_. I thought I'd actually missed something for a moment there."

"Sorry," I replied, still laughing. "Anyway, you're off healing duties for the month, remember?"

She paused. "... yeah," she responded, in a tone that told me she'd forgotten for just a moment. "It feels kind of weird. Like there's someone telling me to do something but I don't have to do it."

I nodded firmly. "Your mental health is far more important. _You_ are far more important."

"Amen," Danny chimed in.

"Yeah," Taylor added, and held out her fist to be bumped; I bumped it. Then she held her fist toward Amy; after a long moment of hesitation, the teenage biokinetic gave her a fist-bump, looking shyly pleased with herself.

"So, uh, who's Gladys Knott, and why do you need to call her?" asked Amy.

I tugged my phone from my pocket. "She's a teacher at Winslow. She has an idea that Taylor is Weaver."

Amy looked from me to Taylor and back. "But ... Taylor _is _Weaver ... right?"

I nodded. "Exactly. So we're inviting her over, sitting her down, and coming clean with her. She's a good person; if she's officially in the loop, she'll definitely keep the secret."

"Not that she needs to worry about it much longer," Danny put in. "As of Monday, Taylor, you're at Arcadia. Principal Blackwell rang through this afternoon to verify the placement."

"Dang," I commented admiringly. "That was fast."

I paused to pull up Gladys' number, even as Taylor squealed and hugged her father, and at that moment, my phone rang.

It was a number I didn't recognise; I put it to my ear. "Hello?"

=/=/=

_Coil tried to make himself comfortable in the back of the PRT van. It wasn't easy; the manacles around his wrists and ankles were chained to a ring-bolt on the floor, and the benches had not acquired any padding since the last time he had ridden in the back of one of these vans, ten years previously._

_"You do know this is all a huge mistake, right?" he ventured, trying to project a confidence he did not feel._

_The guard to his left pulled out a standard PRT stun-gun, and casually pressed the button. Electricity crackled blue between the prongs; Calvert smelled ozone._

_"One more word, sir," the guard replied conversationally. "Just one more word. Security told us about the little girl you tried to have kidnapped."_

_Coil did not doubt the man; there was a menace there, and a resolve to carry through with the implied threat. He kept quiet. After a moment, the guard put the stun-gun away, leaving Coil to wonder exactly how Allen had acquired that information._

* * *

_And then something cylindrical and metallic clattered to the floor of the van, spewing black smoke. Calvert was no less surprised than the guards, even as the smoke from the grenade enveloped him, but his reflexes stood him in good stead. He clenched his eyes shut and held his breath for as long as possible; the smoke was not formulated to be toxic, but it still was in no way good for him._

_There was the rush of movement from somewhere in front of him. A guard cried out, a choked sound. Something banged hard against the side of the van. The stun-gun, or one very like it, crackled, and he heard another strangled cry._

_Someone was fiddling with his manacles; he felt them come loose from around his wrists, then his ankles. A hand tugged at his arm, lifting him to his feet. He had split time at the instant the smoke grenade fell to the floor, and in the one instance, he resisted, trying to reach a guard, grab a weapon. In the other, he cooperated._

_In the world-line where he resisted, cold metal prongs jabbed him in the ribs, through the thin costume. He had a split second to register what it was - __**stun gun **__\- before the electricity surged through his body, and he lost consciousness. Irritated, he shut down that timeline._

_In the other, he was helped to his feet, even as the radio belonging to one of the guards crackled a query. One step forward, eyes still tightly shut, a moment of disorientation, and he was standing on a surface that was not moving, not swaying. His lungs were burning; he essayed a cautious breath. There was smoke there, the particles trapped by the cloth over his face, but it rapidly gave way to fresh, chilled air._

_Carefully, he opened his eyes._

_He had to blink a few times before his sight cleared, but he soon recognised the antiseptic white corridor. He was in Cauldron's base, or at least one of their bases._

_Immediately, he split time once more, looking out for any chance to gain an advantage._

=/=/=

It was Director Piggot's voice on the other end of the line, and the tone of her voice was what I would describe as 'extremely unthrilled'.

_"I suppose,"_ she gritted, _"that you knew this was going to happen, and chose not to notify us."_

"I'm sorry," I responded carefully. "But I'm going to need more to go on."

Her voice could have been used to score diamond. _"Coil."_

"Ah," I replied. "He's disappeared from PRT custody, yes?"

I heard another phone go off, and Amy pulled hers out, looking at it with some puzzlement.

"_So you do know."_ Piggot's voice was grim. _"What part did you have in this?"_

"Minimal, I assure you," I told her. "I guess I did suggest it, but it was for a good cause."

"_You __**suggested**__ that a prisoner be liberated from a PRT transport?"_ The Director's fury seemed to be rising by the moment. _"After you went to such lengths to convince us to take his base, to take him down, you __**suggested**__ that he be let loose again? Who did you suggest this __**to**__?"_

"Okay, can we calm down and take a breath?" I ventured. "Director Piggot, there are things going on behind the scenes here."

She didn't seem to be calming down, but she did take a breath. _"What kind of 'things' are you talking about?"_

"High level things. Things that you don't have clearance for. I _can't_ tell you who I made the suggestion to, but unless I miss my guess -"

Amy was waving her hand to get my attention. I looked her way, and saw that she was holding up her phone. On it was a message:

TELL SECURITY THAT HE DOES NOT MISS HIS GUESS

C

" - ah," I finished. "It's just been confirmed. Coil did not escape, and nor was he liberated."

"_He's __**gone**__," _snarled Piggot. _"How else do you explain that?"_

"Easily," I told her. "He was abducted."

"_And the difference is?"_

"It'll be about the same result as though you had sent him to prison, with the added benefit that he will be working for the betterment of mankind." I took a deep breath. "Believe me when I say that right now, he's not having a good day."

=/=/=

_Turning to Contessa - for it was she who had gotten him out of there - Calvert observed, "I suppose I should be thanking you for the rescue."_

"_Oh, no," she told him. "This wasn't a rescue."_

_He started to try to jump away from her, but she jabbed him with the stun-gun. Electricity crackled; the shock made jelly of his muscles, and he twisted and fell – right on to the stretcher that had been placed at precisely the correct angle._

_Doctor Mother had been standing behind him; now she knelt beside him._

"_Nnnnh," he tried to articulate, but his tongue was a blob of warm meat._

"_It's all for the best," she soothed him. "You will be helping to save the world."_

_As she raised the syringe in her hand, he stared at it in stark terror. He recognised it, all too well._

"_NNNNH!" he grunted, trying to thrash spasmodically. Contessa easily held him down; he felt the sting as the needle slipped into the vein._

_Doctor Mother carefully depressed the plunger, and the drugs that had been intended for Dinah Alcott entered the bloodstream of Thomas Calvert._

=/=/=

Director Piggot sounded a little mollified, but not greatly so. _"Be that as it may, he was still a prisoner of a law enforcement agency, and he was taken from us by force. That is a major felony; knowledge of such an act, or to encourage it, is also a crime. What do you have to say for yourself?"_

I spoke carefully. "I know why he was taken. I know who took him. I don't know where he is; that is, I could not point to a spot on a map and say 'there he is'. I will admit that I _do_ approve of his being taken. However."

"_However …?"_

"However, I did not assist in his abduction, and nor did I know for a fact beforehand that he would indeed be taken. I presume his guards are in good health?"

She was starting to calm down slightly. _"A little contused, and one has been tased. But both are expected to make a full recovery, yes. How did you know?"_

"Because the person who took him wants to stay in good with me for another twenty-four hours or so."

Her voice was resigned. _"And you're not going to tell me who this person is, or why that is."_

"I'm sorry, Director. But if I answered that, or any of the other fifty or sixty questions you're dying to ask me, they would raise more questions, or cause great amounts of havoc, or cause serious personal problems for you and your staff. Or all three. And you don't _need _that, not right now."

I took a deep breath. "However, on the upside, you have his base. You have his mercenaries, who are likely to cooperate on any interrogation, if you release them to leave the city once you're done with them. And you have his computer system, which Tattletale would probably love to help you get to the bottom of. All of which should pretty well expose the network he spent the last few years building."

=/=/=

_On the other end of the phone line, Mike Allen paused. __**"But do you know what the **_**best**_** thing you have is?"**_

"_What's that?" asked Emily suspiciously._

"_**A distinct **_**lack**_** of Thomas Calvert, trusted PRT squad leader, being publicly exposed and tried as the supervillain Coil. One huge public-relations disaster averted, and Mr Chambers didn't even need to get involved."**_

_She didn't even bother wondering how he knew about Glenn Chambers._

"_It would never have gone to trial. We both know that."_

"_**And yet, it would have leaked. We both know that too. Or do you know something I don't?"**_

_He was right. She knew he was right. Something like that would have leaked, possibly by accident, possibly by design. It had the potential to look very bad for the PRT. But she really, really hated to admit it._

"_**So,"**__ Allen observed eventually, __**"yes, he's not in your custody any more. But that also means he's not your headache any more. Which means he's in the hands of the people I've been working with, in order to foster my ultimate aim."**_

_Piggot knew she wasn't going to get a straight answer, but she asked the question anyway. "And what is that, exactly?"_

_The response temporarily stunned her. __**"To save the world, of course. Good night, Director."**_

_She paused, trying to formulate a workable response. In the end, she gave up. "Good night, Mr Allen."_

_The call ended, and she pressed the button to shut it down from her end. She looked across her desk, at the two people who had listened in on the conversation._

"_Armsmaster?"_

_The armoured hero nodded once, briefly. "He was telling the truth, the whole time. Including the bit about saving the world."_

"_Hannah?"_

_Miss Militia's voice was pensive. "Not sure what to think, here. He's earnest about his aims. Reading between the lines, he's trying to get things done as efficiently as possible, while minimising argument and conflict about how he's doing it."_

"_In short," Piggot snorted, "he's breaking the law and cutting corners he really shouldn't be cutting. Expediency at the price of legality. And you know how I feel about __**that**__."_

"_Technically, yes, he's guilty of withholding information crucial to a criminal case, by not telling you who took Calvert," agreed Miss Militia._

"_Not to mention the whole bank thing," Armsmaster added. "Knowing that a bunch of supervillains would be robbing it, allowing it to happen, so that his pet cape could show up and be the hero. That could have gone so wrong, in so many ways."_

_The Director rubbed her chin. "That does raise the question about the relationship between Weaver and Security. Are they related, or is there something more going on between them?"_

"_All questions we are going to have to ask Mr Allen, sometime very soon," Armsmaster observed._

"_Agreed," responded the Director._

_Miss Militia frowned. "I thought we were going with 'hands-off' for the moment?"_

"_That was until he started breaking the law," Piggot told her tartly. "We don't come down hard on him; if anything is likely to generate a powerful response, that will. After all, we still do not know exactly who or what he is, or what level of response he is likely to be willing or able to mount. But we __**can**__ ask him questions. Appeal to the human side of his nature. He strikes me as someone who tries his best to be reasonable."_

"_Unless that's all a front, a facade," Armsmaster pointed out dourly._

_She gave him a sharp glance. "Does it seem that way to you?"_

_Reluctantly, he shook his head. " … no. Unless he's totally spoofing my lie detector, in the same way that he spoofed Coil's precognition, he's not playing a part."_

"_Very well then," decided the Director. "This is what we'll do … "_

=/=/=

I ended the call, and looked around the table at the others. "What?"

Taylor broke the silence first; her voice held a kind of wonderment. "You really _are_ trying to save the world."

I nodded. "That's the general idea. And the people in it; the ones I think are worth saving, anyway."

Danny spoke up, his voice a little strangled. "Did I hear you tell the Director of the Brockton Bay PRT that she didn't have _clearance_ to know something?"

I shrugged. "Well, she doesn't." Honesty made me add, "Not yet, anyway."

Amy looked carefully at me. "You said you're trying to save the people you think are worth saving. Who are they?"

I grinned at her. "All you guys. Vicky. The Wards. Paige Macabee. A girl called Dinah Alcott. The Undersiders. The Travellers. Director Piggot. A woman by the name of Kayden Anders, and her baby daughter. A troubled young woman called Sveta. The only daughter of a man called Andrew Richter." I paused. "And … others who haven't come up yet."

"Christ," muttered Danny. "That's some list."

I shrugged. "I can only do what I can do."

"Right," snorted Taylor. "I've _seen_ you at work."

Amy nodded. "You certainly got _my_ attention."

"Hey," I protested. "I'm nothing special. If I didn't know what I knew, I'd be just another security guard."

"But you _do_ know it," Danny pointed out. "And you use it to help people. And speaking as one of the people you've helped, you have my profound thanks." He nodded at my phone. "So are you going to make that call?"

Sheepishly, I grinned at him. "Maybe some time before the heat death of the universe, huh?"

=/=/=

_Gladys Knott frowned at the clock. The hour hand was creeping toward ten, and she really should be in bed shortly after that time. Tomorrow was a school day, after all._

_Michael had said that he would call, and he struck her as a man of his word. __**So why hasn't he called?**_

_And then the phone rang. She almost snatched at it, then composed herself and picked it up decorously._

"_Hello?"_

"_**Yeah, hi, Gladys. It's me."**_

_She felt the happiness entering her voice, and she tried to sound scolding. "Michael! I was wondering if you were going to call, after all."_

"_**Yeah, well, I got hung up on another call. You okay to come over to Danny Hebert's place?"**_

_She smiled. "All you need to do is ask, Michael dear."_

"_**Sure thing. I'm asking. See you soon?"**_

"_I shall see you just as soon as I can. Goodbye."_

"_**Bye, Gladys."**_

_The call ended, and she put the phone down. The car keys came readily to her hand, and she hurried to the door._

=/=/=

Taylor answered the door at the first knock; Gladys was there, and I came to greet her as she entered the living room. The hug was nice; we traded a decorous kiss on the cheek.

I led her through into the kitchen. "Gladys, meet Amy. Amy, meet Gladys Knott."

Gladys' eyes lit with recognition. "Of course! You're Amy Dallon. Panacea."

Amy nodded. "Though I'm just Amy for the moment, okay?"

"That's fine, and I'm Gladys." She took a seat, and so did I. With five of the six chairs occupied, the table was almost full.

Danny poured coffee and tea for those who drank it – Amy and I had juice – and then we all sat back and looked at each other.

"Okay," I began. "Cards on the table. I'm not a cape, but I've been using the name Security in the cape scene for the last week or so."

I saw Gladys' eyebrows raise at this, and I went on. "I've been acting as a sort of … unofficial advisor to the PRT and local Protectorate forces."

Gladys' eyebrows came back down, and she frowned at me. "But … how do you get to be … an advisor to the PRT?"

"We'll get to that," I suggested. "Taylor?"

Taylor took a deep breath. "I _am_ a cape," she admitted. "My power is the control of bugs and other tiny creatures like that. In costume, I go by the name Weaver. I've had my powers since early January."

Gladys took a deep breath, and reached across the table to take her hand. "Oh, my dear! The … uh ..."

Taylor nodded, and swallowed. "The locker, yeah." I saw Danny take her other hand, and I put my hand on her shoulder. Amy put a hand on her other shoulder.

I could literally see Taylor gaining strength from the support we were showing her; she took a deep breath and raised her chin. "Amy, you probably heard about some girl getting shut in her locker, back in January?"

Amy nodded. "I heard a rumour. Didn't think it was true." She paused. "Wait, that was _you?"_

"Yeah. That was me. I got powers then. I've been working on my cape identity ever since."

"She went out for the first time as a cape on Sunday night," I filled in. "I went with her, to help and advise. She took down Lung that night."

Taylor gave me a reproving glance. _"We_ took down Lung."

I shrugged. "You did the heavy lifting. I did the running away."

"Team effort," she insisted, and disengaged her hand from Danny's. We shared a fist-bump, then she took her father's hand again.

"Okay, fine, team effort," I conceded. "And then the bank today ..."

" … where you insisted on walking Amy out first … "

" … while you took down the Undersiders, doing a bloody fine job as command and control for the PRT foam-sprayers."

Taylor shook her head. "I didn't even know I could do that."

I grinned. "I did. It's why I set things up that way." I raised a finger. "Point of note; each extra bug you add to your collection, the better you get at multitasking. Just so you know."

Taylor blinked. " … oh."

"So what happened tonight?" asked Danny. "I've only heard the vaguest hints."

"Something happened tonight?" put in Gladys. "There was nothing on the news."

"Well, for the moment, we're gonna have to leave most of that as vague hints, I'm afraid," I told them regretfully, "but what we can tell you is that between Taylor, Amy, myself, and some other people, both parahuman and others, we took a really nasty piece of work off the board. The type of guy who gives villains a bad name."

Danny had a few more details than Gladys, so he could fill in some more of the blanks. I put my hand on her shoulder. "Sorry I can't tell you more about what we did; it was a secret PRT operation, more or less."

"Well, more your operation, with the PRT tagging along," Taylor jibed.

"I was just there to coordinate matters," I protested. "Anyway, we're teasing Gladys, and we shouldn't do that."

"No, you should not," Gladys agreed firmly. "Now I'm bursting with curiosity, with just a few hints to go on with."

"Let's just say we scored one for the good guys, and leave it at that," I suggested.

"Very well," she agreed, a little too readily for my peace of mind; however, before I could make a comment, she was going on. "Now, Michael, you mentioned earlier that you are acting as an informal advisor to the PRT. How does that work?"

I sighed. "I … know things. Things that people believe only they know, or things that no-one else knows. I've been helping the PRT deal with some matters. Such as the bank, and with the other matter, tonight."

"But _how_ do you know these things?" she pressed, and was surprised when everyone else burst out laughing. "Did I say something funny?"

I shook my head. "No. But it's a question nearly everyone ends up asking me."

"He knows lots of weird stuff about everyone," Amy supplied. "Go on, show her."

Gladys looked at me expectantly. I sighed again. "Sorry, can't do."

"What?" she asked. "Why not?"

"Because most of what I know about you is what you've told me," I confessed. "All I knew about you before I met you was that you were in charge of Taylor's home room class, that you taught computer use, and that you were Taylor's favourite teacher."

Amy stared at me. "You're not serious. That's _all_ you knew about her?"

I shrugged. "What I know, it's not all-encompassing. Just really, really broad. Sorry."

Gladys looked at Taylor. "Really? Your favourite teacher?"

Taylor coloured slightly. "Yeah. You always let me do my work in peace."

Gladys smiled. "Well, if I had a favourite student, you would be it. You never cause problems." She turned to stare at me. "How did you know? Did she tell you?"

I shook my head. "No. It's … I just knew."

"Mike says … Mike, is it okay?" asked Taylor.

I shrugged. "Sure."

"Mike says what?" asked Danny.

"That he's a time traveller from three years in the future," Taylor finished.

I held up a finger. "I said that's not quite the truth, but it's close enough for the moment."

"Time traveller? Really?" asked Amy.

"Nope," I assured her. "Not really."

"Then what is it?" asked Gladys. "What's the real truth?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I … I can't tell you. If I told you, you might not believe me. Or you might, which could be even worse, for your peace of mind. So can we just stick with 'time traveller' for the moment, please? It's close enough that it doesn't really matter."

Danny paused, then thought for a moment. "So what's the world like in three years' time?"

"In twenty fourteen," I answered honestly, "Earth Bet is just getting over an apocalyptic event. The world nearly ended, for real. Things are looking up, but the place took a real hiding. Literally billions of people died, uh, will die, uh, might die." I took a deep breath. "I'm trying to change matters. Make it so that all those people don't have to die."

"What causes the apocalyptic event?" asked Amy in a hushed voice. Taylor was silent; recalling, no doubt, my mention of her as the person who saved the world, in the future.

Again, I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I can not tell you that. But I can tell you that I am doing my level best to forestall it. I've fixed some of it. I just hope my other fixes take, as well."

"Was tonight a fix?" asked Taylor.

"Part of one, yes," I agreed.

"What was it supposed to fix?" asked Amy.

"Sorry, can't tell." I glanced apologetically at the varying expressions of frustration on the people around the table. "I'm sorry. I really am. I just … I need to keep juggling these chainsaws as long as I can. And I need to keep information compartmentalised, so that the wrong bit of data getting out at the wrong time doesn't screw everything up."

Some of the strain I was feeling must have come out in my voice, because they all eased back.

"It's okay, Mike," Danny told me. "You've done okay by us so far. I'll trust you to do your best."

"Yeah," agreed Taylor. "My life _rocks_ since I met you."

I smiled, and gave her a fist-bump. "That was the general idea, kiddo."

Amy was staring at me as if I had grown a second head. "Then what you told me … all those things you said to bring up ..."

I nodded. "Yes?"

"That's all designed to make my life better?"

"Well, yeah."

"Even though it's gonna be really hard to face?"

"Either you face it, or it's gonna hit you really hard in the back of the head at the worst possible moment," I reminded her.

"But what if your fixes make sure that moment never happens?" she pressed.

I looked at her soberly. "Even if that happens, I would still tell you to do it. You'll be happier after, I guarantee it."

Amy looked at Taylor, and Taylor nodded. "Whatever he's telling you to do, I'd do it," she advised.

Slowly, Amy nodded. "Thanks, Taylor," she replied, then looked at me. "Thanks, Mike. And thank you, Danny, for taking me in. For showing me that I can relax and enjoy myself, without having to watch everything I say."

Taylor stood up. "Come here, you," she told Amy. Amy stood up, and Taylor hugged her. Slowly, cautiously, Amy hugged her back. When they separated, there were tears on Amy's face. No-one commented, but Gladys pressed a handkerchief into her hand.

"It's getting late," commented Gladys. "We have school tomorrow. Mike, would you like a lift?"

"Yeah, thanks," I agreed. "I'd appreciate it."

She smiled. "It's the least I can do for the man who's trying to save the world."

I grinned and shook my head. "Don't spread it around, okay?"

=/=/=

"_Kayden, why did we have to leave Brockton Bay?"_

_Kayden Anders looked up from where she was getting Aster settled. Theo had just come out of the shower; the pyjamas he was wearing accentuated his pudgy frame, and made him look about ten years old._

_She ran through several explanations in her head, and settled on the simplest. "I got a warning, Theo."_

"_A warning? From who?"_

"_From whom," she corrected automatically. "Someone I've never heard of before," she went on, as an answer. "He called himself Security."_

_Theo climbed on to the other bed and pulled the covers over himself. "What did he warn you about?"_

"_That there was a chance that Empire Eighty-Eight might be outed, unmasked."_

_He stared at her. "But that's against the unwritten rules! And anyway, neither of us is in Empire Eighty-Eight, not since you left Dad."_

_She shook her head. "He specifically told me that everyone who's ever been in, as well as family members, would be named. And that the guy doing it doesn't care about the rules."_

"_Oh boy," muttered Theo. Then he paused. "What if it's just a scam of some sort to get you out of town for some other reason?"_

_Kayden had considered that. "Even if it's true," she told him. "Even if there's no truth to it. I'd do this anyway, to protect Aster." She climbed into her own bed, and turned out the light. "Good night, Theo."_

"_Good night, Kayden."_

_Time passed; Kayden was beginning to drift. Then she heard bedsprings creak as Theo shifted. "Kayden?"_

_She didn't even open her eyes. "Yes, Theo?"_

"_Thanks for bringing me along."_

"_Don't worry about it. You're family too."_

_He didn't answer, and soon she heard faint snores. It didn't take her long to drift off as well._

_Outside, the subdued neon sign flashed on and off, on and off._

_And around the motel, the night life of Boston went on._

=/=/=

At the front door, Danny shook my hand, and I traded a fist-bump with both Taylor and Amy. Taylor and Amy both hugged Gladys, and we made our way to where she had parked her little car. We climbed in, and I did up my seatbelt. It was only after Gladys started the engine and drove off that I saw the front door close.

=/=/=

"_Well, girls," Danny told Taylor and Amy, "it's been a long day, and it's a school night, so I think it's time we all went to bed."_

"_Sure thing, Dad," Taylor told him, and hugged him; he hugged her back. With Amy, he traded a smile and a nod._

"_Night, kids." Turning off the downstairs lights, Danny headed upstairs, followed by the girls._

_Taylor paused in her bedroom doorway. "Night, Dad."_

"_Night, Mr Hebert," Amy chimed in._

_A camp bed had been set up in Taylor's room; it made it a little cramped, but neither girl minded that. As they readied for bed, Taylor turned to Amy._

"_Just out of curiosity," she said, "I kind of missed the action, but I hear you helped save that girl's life?"_

"_Oh, yeah," Amy replied, climbing on to the camp bed and pulling the covers up. "I basically rebuilt her lower body from the available biomass."_

_Taylor stared. "So you were able to give her new __**legs**__?"_

_Amy nodded. "It was a fairly simple job. I had plenty to work with."_

"_Huh, wow," marvelled Taylor. "I always thought you were just a healer." She switched off the light and climbed into bed. "What else can you do?"_

"_Well, I'm actually a biokinetic," Amy explained. "I can modify anything with a biological structure." A thought struck her. "You control bugs, right?"_

"_Yeah, why?"_

_Amy smiled in the darkness. "Bugs are biological." __**And if I need to start getting used to healing brains, like Mike said, then I should probably practise on something much simpler first.**_

_They talked for a few more moments, then settled down to sleep. But both of them now had a lot to think about._

=/=/=

We had travelled for some little while on the quiet roads before Gladys spoke. "When were you going to tell me?"

I blinked. "What, that stuff about tonight? When you needed to know."

She turned to look at me briefly. "So, if I had not made the connection, I would not know what I now know."

I nodded. "Basically, yes. This is dangerous information. People might well kill to possess it. The PRT wants to know what I know, and I've already been kidnapped and presumably tortured by a supervillain for what I know."

Her voice hit a higher note when she replied. "'Presumably' tortured?"

I nodded. "Yeah. It's a cape thing. It never happened, but it might have."

There was another interval of silence. Then she spoke again, her voice slow and sad.

"So … what am I, to you?"

I blinked, puzzled. "What?"

"What am I, to you? What do I mean to you? You're a time traveller, or something similar. Am I a quaint oddity in your trip to the past? An amusement, to be used and discarded?"

I shook my head. "God, no. You're as real to me, every bit as complete a person, as I am to you. As I was before you knew this about me."

As the car passed under a street-light, I saw the tracks of tears on her face. "Do you really mean that, or are you just playing a part? Working a plan?"

I put my hand on her arm. "Gladys, pull over."

"Why?"

"Please?"

She pulled over. I undid my seatbelt, and undid hers as well. Awkwardly, in the cramped confines of the car, I took her in my arms, laid my head on her chest. Slowly, I felt her arms creep around me.

"When I got here," I told her, "I didn't know what to expect. I didn't even expect to _be_ here. And then I thought I could just be … me. Try to fix the world. I knew I'd probably meet you. I didn't think anything of it. Didn't know what you were like as a person. Didn't expect this to happen. Don't know where to go from here."

She was silent, holding me. Warm against me. A safe haven against the uncertainty.

_Tomorrow, I lose Contessa's protection._

_I don't know what's going to happen then._

She tilted her head down, tilted my chin up. Kissed me. Lips warm against mine. I closed my eyes, surrendered to the warmth.

The kiss lasted an eternity; it lasted an instant.

"Where we go from here," she told me firmly, "is home."

=/=/=

_The computer was situated in a warehouse owned by a small company, itself owned by a shell company, for which ownership could be traced back gradually to Fortress Constructions._

_It sat in a small, locked, air-conditioned room. There was not even a chair, or a keyboard to do the typing._

_Coil's phone had been taken off him and was now in evidence lockup, awaiting its absent owner. At eleven PM, it turned itself on, and beeped several times. No-one heard it; the sturdy locker door absorbed nearly all the sound._

_On the face of the phone was a simple message:_

_RELEASE E88 INFO?_

_Beneath that was a 'yes' and a 'no' button._

_The phone beeped several more times for attention, and then it made its choice. Five minutes after showing the reminder, it selected 'yes', sent the message, and then turned itself off again._

_In the warehouse, the computer went from sleep mode to fully awake. Nothing really exciting happened; a few LEDs, carefully taped over, lit up. A hard drive was accessed; the same information was available on Coil's main computer, now in PRT hands, but this computer was attached to a landline which in turn led to an internet connection._

_The instruction came in, and the computer obeyed it flawlessly; at midnight on the dot, the contents of the hard drive, chapter and verse on the Empire Eighty-Eight, would be emailed to a dozen different destinations. News services, the police force, and cape sites would all get the information._

_Nothing would happen regarding this information at the moment. But when people started waking up, checking their newsfeeds, then things would start jumping._

=/=/=

We stopped off at my place, where I grabbed toiletries and fresh clothes for the morning. I got back into her car, and she drove off once more.

Back at her place, there was no furtive rush, no haste. No teenage fumbling. We were adults; we knew how things went. I kissed her; she kissed me. With no particular haste, we shed our clothing.

And what happened then was between herself and myself, and no-one else.

=/=/=

**Friday 15 April 2011**

_Max Anders was pulled out of a sound sleep by the insistent ringing of the bedside phone. Suppressing an impulse to destroy the damned thing, he picked it up._

"_Hello?"_

"_**Max." **__It was Fleischer's voice, hard and tight with some strong emotion. __**"You have to see this."**_

_Max yawned. "See what? What is this, James?" He peered at the alarm clock. "What the fuck? It's five AM, for God's sake."_

"_**Turn on the TV, Max. The news channels. Now."**_

_Something in the tone of Fleischer's voice got through to him. He fumbled for the remote, pointed it at the large-screen TV that took up most of the opposite wall, and clicked it on. It was already set to the news channels; he liked to browse the world's events while he ate breakfast in bed._

_The very first item washed all traces of sleep from his brain. He sat up fast, clicking the remote to bring the volume up._

" _**\- Anders, allegedly known as Kaiser, the head of the criminal organisation Empire Eighty-Eight -"**_

_Stunned, he watched as the information rolled across the screen. Photos of himself as Kaiser and in his civilian identity; other photos showing him entering and leaving Medhall as Kaiser. There was more; Fleischer's identity as Kreig was laid out as well, as was …_

"_Fuck, they even outed Purity?"_

_Kayden hadn't associated with the Empire for more than a year now. He had been toying with the idea of tugging on her leash, bringing her back into the fold, using Aster as leverage, but he hadn't had the need, not yet. And now, her name and face were up on the screen, along with high-definition, drastically filtered photos of her as Purity. No normal camera could take any picture of her that was anything more than a white blur, but this digital filtering brought out an image that fitted with her normal face._

_They had even named Aster, and Theo. __**Children.**_

"_**Max? You still there?"**_

_He became aware that he was still gripping the phone. "Yes, James, I'm here. Thank you; this was something I needed to see." He threw the covers off. "I need to contact Medhall, run damage control."_

"_**I'm already on it. I have people shifting funds into numbered accounts so they can't freeze our assets. We're working on a press release for later."**_

"_Have you contacted our other people?" The members of Empire Eighty-Eight, he meant._

"_**Yes. All but Purity, I mean. She's not answering her landline, or her mobile."**_

"_I'll get on to that. Start trying to find out who did this." His voice was grim. "If it's another villain group, I want them eradicated. If it's the PRT -"_

"_**Max, this information was not gathered overnight. And indications are that it was emailed **_**to**_** the PRT, as opposed to originating **_**from**_** them."**_

"_So it's someone doing a run on us. Find out who."_

"_**They'll have covered their tracks."**_

"_So uncover them. I want to look whoever it is in the eye as I disembowel him. Slowly."_

"_**On it."**_

_Anders hung up, then dialled Kayden's landline. It rang out; he left a voice message._

_Then he dialled her mobile. It also rang out; again, he left a voice message._

_Throwing the phone back on to the cradle, he dressed swiftly, while watching the train wreck unfold on the big screen. One thought was uppermost in his mind._

_**I am going to **_**kill**_** whoever did this.**_

_=/=/=_

"So how are you feeling this fine morning?"

I smiled at Gladys' question. "I'm feeling great. Never more alive. How about you?"

She brushed a kiss across my lips as we passed by one another. "Much the same, Michael. Much the same. Although we cannot make a habit of doing this."

"What – oh. Not on school nights, you mean?" I asked, tightening the straps on the vest.

"Indeed." She tilted her head. "So, are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"Well, yeah," I told her. "Unless you've decided to take a rain check."

She snorted in an unladylike fashion, and punched me lightly on the arm. "If I had, Michael, you would already know about it. We are going on a date tomorrow night."

"Events allowing, of course," I added.

"Events allowing?" she repeated, a questioning note in her voice.

"Yeah. Tomorrow's the day I stop knowing most of what's going to happen. Just going to have to let the dice fall where they may."

"How is that?" she asked, dabbing on lipstick.

"It's a long and complicated story," I explained. "Suffice to say, 'cape stuff'."

"So, if you don't know what's going to happen, how are you going to change matters to save the world?"

"Tonight, I'll be sorting out that aspect of things. Telling people what they need to know. Giving them the tools, so to speak." I looked at her soberly. _"I_ can't save the world. I can only tell people how to do it. The people who have the capability to do so."

"But you have to get their attention first," she replied perceptively.

"The problem facing everyone with the solution for saving the world," I agreed. "Getting the world to cooperate."

She put her hand on my arm. "Do you want me along, tonight?" she asked softly.

I took her in my arms. "I would like nothing more," I replied. "But … no. There's too much power being thrown around, and if you were seen as being inconveniently in the way … "

She didn't like it, but she nodded. "I see your point. But you will tell me about it, after?"

"As much as I consider safe to tell you," I agreed.

She kissed me lightly on the lips. "Poor Michael. The weight of the world on your shoulders."

"After tonight, not so much," I reminded her. "Hopefully."

"Come along," she told me, taking me by the hand. "We can walk and talk."

We strolled to the bus stop, not quite hand in hand, chatting about inconsequential subjects. Her bus came; she boarded it. I waited a little longer, and got on the bus that ran past my flat, and on to Winslow.

After all, saving the world or no, I still had a job to do.

=/=/=

_Kayden noted the missed calls on her mobile. She had set it to silent, and had decided that it was better if she didn't answer any calls on it. But she had purchased a burner phone, and now she turned it on and dialled Max's number. At the same time, she clicked on the motel TV, volume set to low._

_Max answered at once. __**"Kayden! Are you all right?"**_

_She was startled by the apparent concern in his voice. "Yes, Max. I'm fine. Why?"_

"_**Have you seen what's on the news?"**_

"_I'm looking at it now. They've outed everyone?"_

"_**It looks like it. Where are you? You should come in; I can protect you."**_

_She let a tart tone creep into her voice. "I can protect myself, and Aster and Theo too. I'm out of town, Max. Well away from this."_

"_**What? Why are you out of town?"**_

"_Because I got a warning that this might happen."_

_There was a long pause. When Max spoke next, his voice was flat and hard. __**"Who was it, Kayden? Who warned you? What did they say?"**_

"_He called himself Security. Warned me that a villain was collecting the information and intended to out us all. Told me that he was taking the villain down, but there might be a failsafe, warned me to take Aster and get out of town. So I did."_

_There was anger in his tone now. __**"And you didn't think to warn me?"**_

_She steeled herself. "For one thing, Max, you would have argued and asked questions that I didn't have answers for. And for another, you would have insisted that I come in with you, for Aster's protection. And that's one thing I will never do. So no, I didn't warn you. After all, you can take care of yourself, can't you?"_

"_**Okay, fine. So this Security person. Anything else you can tell me?"**_

"_Just that he seemed to know a great deal about me, and about you, and about Empire Eighty-Eight. And he warned me to stay away from you. So he obviously knows what he's talking about."_

_He didn't seem to notice the jibe. __**"Security. Right. Thanks. I'll be in touch."**_

"_There's no need," she told him, but he had already hung up._

_Aster had woken, so she sighed and went to feed her and check if she needed changing._

_Even in the face of big problems, she still had little problems to deal with._

* * *

End of Chapter Twenty-Four


	25. Chapter 25

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five: Points of View

* * *

Director Emily Piggot, PRT

Emily's desk phone rang; without taking her eyes from the images and text scrolling across the screen, she picked it up.

"Piggot."

_"Director, I have a call for you."_

"Who is it from?"

_"She refuses to say."_

"Then why are you bothering me with this?"

_"She says it's about Security."_

She didn't hesitate. "Put her through, but put a trace on the line."

* * *

Moments later, she heard the dead air of a new line. "Director Piggot here. Who am I speaking to?"

The voice was soft, almost inaudible. _"I – my name is Kayden Anders, Director. I need to get a message through to Security."_

That name sounded familiar. Piggot scrolled back through the infodump that had been in her inbox that morning.

Her voice was sharp when she answered. "Kayden Anders, as in Purity? Second in command of the Empire Eighty-Eight?"

"_Yes,"_ replied Purity, if indeed that was her. _"But not part of Empire Eighty-Eight. Not any more."_

Director Piggot's voice was icy. "You can say that all you like. But actions speak louder than words. Why are you calling, and what do you know about Security?"

"I – he called me yesterday, to warn me about the outing of Empire Eighty-Eight, and to suggest that I get out of town."

The Director was momentarily dumbfounded, then she nodded slowly. _Yes, he might just do that. He has odd ideas about villains._

"So get to the point. Why do you want to contact him now?"

"Because Kaiser – Max – called me a little earlier, and I told him how I knew about it. About Security."

The Director suppressed a groan. _Oh shit. Now Kaiser is gunning for Security. That's all I need._

"Let's backtrack a moment. Why exactly did Security tell you about the outing?"

"_He said he didn't want my child being taken away from me."_

* * *

Piggot scrolled through the data on Kayden Anders, aka Purity.

There was an infant child, all right. _Aster Klara Anders._ There was even a photo; she looked adorable.

She paused for a moment, wondering exactly what someone of Purity's power level would be willing to do in order to retrieve her child, should the baby be taken away from her.

_Quite a lot, I would imagine._

_I wonder if Mr Allen just helped us dodge a bullet, there._

_That's not my problem. He revealed details of a PRT operation to villains._

_Or __**did**__ he? The operation didn't even exist, when he told Purity that something was going to happen._

_But he proposed it to us, knowing that Purity knew about it._

She sighed. _I'm going to need to have a long, serious talk with that man. Very soon. We need to discuss concepts such as 'operational security' and 'risking the lives of good men'._

_In the meantime …_

* * *

"Ms Anders? Are you still there?"

"_Yes, I'm here, Director. Will you tell him?"_

"How much does Kaiser know about Security?"

"_Just that he exists. But he has many contacts in Brockton Bay. He can probably find out more, if he really tries. And if he decides that Security is the one who actually outed him ..."_

"I get it. I will tell him. Your assistance is acknowledged, but understand this. If you return to Brockton Bay, a warrant _will_ be issued for your arrest."

"_But I haven't had anything to do with Max, or Empire Eighty-Eight, for more than a year!"_

Piggot's voice was implacable. "That doesn't change the fact that you committed crimes, and aided and abetted in others, while you were with them. You are a criminal, Ms Anders, and if you show your face in Brockton Bay, you will be treated as one."

There was no answer; just a _beep_ and then a dial tone. She hit a couple of buttons on her intercom.

"_Yes, ma'am?"_

"Did you manage to put a trace on that call?"

"_We traced it as far as Boston, ma'am. But we think the caller used a burner phone."_

"Hm. Thank you." She hung up the phone.

_Allen did a villain a favour, and now his life is on the line. Why does this not surprise me?_

=/=

Amelia Claire Lavere (Panacea)

Amy yawned and stretched, and blinked her way to wakefulness. She could hear a shower running.

"Oh, sorry," she heard a voice say quietly. "Did I wake you? I didn't mean to."

She was momentarily confused. _That's not Vicky._

As more of her brain came online, she began to register her surroundings. _This isn't my bedroom. What's going on here?_

And then she remembered the events of the day before; the bank, the security guard, the mission to take down Coil. Associating with the very villains who had attempted to rob the bank, as well as the hero who had foiled them. _Weaver, also known as Taylor Hebert._

She rolled over, to see Taylor – _tall, skinny, glasses, long curly hair_ – pulling on a running shoe.

"Good morning," she murmured. "What are you doing?"

"Going running," Taylor replied with a grin, holding up the second shoe. "I do it every morning. Want to come with?"

Amy propped herself up on one elbow. "Running?" she repeated. "Like, not just a brisk walk?"

Taylor shrugged. "We can do a brisk walk today, if you want. Just so long as we work up a sweat."

Amy had never made a practice of running before. If she needed to get anywhere in a hurry, Vicky was there to give her a lift. _I guess, so long as I'm doing new things anyway …_

Before she could change her mind – the bed was so soft and warm and comfortable – she pulled back the covers and got up. "Sure, I guess," she agreed, cracking a yawn in the middle of the last word. "Where's my suitcase?"

* * *

It didn't take her long to select clothes suitable for running; she had a set of sweats that she had worn to the gym a few times, before she fell out of the habit. A pair of soft-soled shoes had been tucked in as an afterthought; she pulled these on and knotted the laces.

Taylor let them out the back door, closing it carefully behind them. As she did so, the sound of the shower ceased.

"Dad'll be cooking breakfast now," she told Amy. "It should be about ready by the time we get back."

_Wow, Mark never cooks breakfast._ But Amy knew that was due to her foster father's chronic depression. And Carol was generally in a hurry to get to work, so whatever got cooked in the morning was usually up to Vicky and Amy.

She found she was looking forward to it. "That should be nice."

"It is." Taylor opened the side gate so they could get out. "Okay, let's see how you do. You set the pace; I'll stay with you."

* * *

The sun wasn't really even up yet, and the chilly air stung her throat. But Amy found that she was enjoying it, enjoying the early-morning birdsong, the stretch and pull of her muscles, the overall experience of being outside this early in the day.

She moved at a half-jog, half-walk, with Taylor pacing easily beside her. Soon she found herself puffing heavily, but kept at it; subconsciously, she altered bacteria in her throat to produce oxygen, making it easier for her to get what she needed.

"It's … not … fair … " she complained, when they stopped for a breather.

"What's not fair?" asked Taylor, looking mildly concerned.

"Your … legs … longer … than … mine."

Taylor chuckled. "That, and I've been doing this since February."

Amy shot her a dirty look.

Taylor shrugged. "I've gotten used to it."

"But you're a Master," Amy pointed out. "Why do you need to be so fit?"

Taylor patted her belly, firm and flat under the sweats. "So I didn't look like an upright frog in my costume."

Amy tried to laugh, doubled over and coughed with her hands on her knees. Taylor patted her on the back. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Amy assured her, standing up straight, and taking deep breaths. "I guess even Masters should be able to run away if they have to."

"And I've got spider silk armour for when I can't," Taylor agreed. She nodded to Amy. "You should really have some sort of body armour, given that you're a healer who has to be right there next to the person you're healing."

"Yeah, but I can't afford it," Amy pointed out practically.

Taylor looked her up and down. "Give me a little time, and I could probably work something up for you."

Amy stared at her. "You'd do that for me?"

Taylor shrugged. "Sure. I'd guess Vicky wouldn't need any, but you sure do."

"Wow, okay. That sounds cool."

"It'll take a while," Taylor warned her, "and I'll need all your measurements. And we'll have to do fittings."

"I don't mind," Amy grinned. "I'm not going out in costume for the next month anyway." She paused. "What spiders do you use for the costume, anyway?"

Taylor grinned back. "Black widows. They have the second strongest webbing in the world." She bent over, stretching her hamstrings.

Amy was a little startled that Taylor so casually alluded to working with such dangerous creatures. _But then, she's got the least to worry about, from them. _"What's got the strongest webbing?"

Taylor sighed. "Darwin's Bark spiders, but they're native to Madagascar. I've really got no way to get hold of them."

"I might be able to help you with that," Amy told her thoughtfully.

"Yeah? How? Can you import foreign spiders?"

"No, but what if I modified a black widow for stronger webbing?"

Taylor's eyes opened wide. "You can _do_ that?"

It was Amy's turn to shrug carelessly. "Sure. All we need to do is test it to make sure it's actually stronger. Say, after school?"

Taylor nodded. "Sure. Sure. We can definitely do that." She nodded in the direction of home. "You seem to have caught your breath. Shall we get back?" A grin. "Breakfast awaits."

Amy was suddenly very hungry. "Give me a ten minute head start, and I'll race you there."

Their laughter trailed off down the street as they started back.

=/=

Gladys Knott

Gladys was just getting off the bus at Winslow when a phone rang in her bag. It wasn't her phone; or rather, it wasn't her ringtone. Curious, she fished it out.

_Oh dear. I must have put Michael's phone in my bag by accident._

Pressing the 'answer' button, she put it to her ear.

"Hello, this is Michael Allen's phone. Gladys Knott speaking."

There was a pause on the line; she could tell that someone was there, but they weren't speaking.

"Hello?"

"_Mrs Knott, this is Director Piggot of the PRT. Is Mr Allen there?"_

Gladys frowned. _How does she know to call me 'Mrs' Knott?_

But that wasn't important. "Ah, no. I'm very sorry. He, uh, misplaced his phone, and I found it." _Just now, in my bag._

Director Piggot's voice was noncommittal. _"I see. Can you get a message to him?"_

"I will probably see him at school, yes."

"_Good. Please tell him that Mr Anders is looking for him."_

"I am to tell him that Mr Anders is looking for him."

"_Exactly. Thank you, Mrs Knott."_

"My pleasure, Director."

The call cut off, and Gladys stared at the phone.

_Now I wonder what that was all about?_

=/=

Lisa Wilbourn (Tattletale)

The guest quarters were comfortable, if not luxurious. Brian and Alec shared one room, while Lisa and Rachel shared the other. Breakfast was actually quite good, considering that they were effectively prisoners. Brian was finishing his portion when Lisa, across the table, suddenly slapped herself on the forehead.

"Christ!" she exclaimed. "He was right _again!"_

"Who, Security?" he asked.

She nodded in irritation. "Day before yesterday, he made a prediction when I was chatting to him online. Told me that I'd be feeling much better about things in twenty-four hours' time."

Brian glanced around as Alec wandered out from the bedroom, then back at Lisa. "And were you?"

She nodded. "This was twenty-four hours before we took down Coil."

"Hah!" She could tell that Brian was amused at her irritation; it only made her more so. "Sorry, but you have to admit, that's sort of badass, to make that sort of prediction a full day in advance."

"This is the guy," she reminded him, "whose face you wanted to beat in for getting us all captured."

"Yeah, true," he agreed. "Still, they've been treating us with kid gloves. I wonder why."

She rolled her eyes. "We helped take down a major villain and threat to Brockton Bay. They're trying to figure what to do with us next."

* * *

Alec flopped on to the couch and grabbed the remote. He turned the big-screen TV on, watching indolently. But then he sat up.

"Holy shit, guys," he called out, his voice tense. "You should see this."

That was the most excitement either of them had heard from Alec in all the time they had known him. They turned to look at the TV. When they saw what was scrolling down the screen, they turned to stare at each other.

"Holy -" began Brian.

"- shit," finished Lisa.

"Kaiser has to be _pissed_," added Alec unnecessarily.

"Kinda glad that we aren't in the firing line for this, all of a sudden," observed Brian.

"Wonder who did do it," commented Alec idly.

Lisa's eyes opened wide as several connections made themselves known at once. "Coil. Oh shit." She jumped up and ran into the room she was sharing with Rachel.

* * *

The auburn-haired girl looked around with irritation, a brush in her hand, as Brutus jumped to his feet in surprise. "What the fuck?"

Lisa didn't bother with niceties. "Were you keeping your dogs where I told the PRT you had them, or somewhere else?"

Rachel glared at her. "What's it to you?"

"Was I right, or wasn't I?" pressed Lisa. "This is serious. They could be in danger."

"I never moved them," Rachel told her. "Why? What's going on?"

"Empire Eighty-Eight's just been outed. Unmasked. Everyone in it." Lisa was already on her way out of the room.

"What? How did that happen?" Rachel got up and followed her. Brutus trotted behind Rachel.

"Fucking Coil." Lisa went to the intercom and pressed the button. "Hey, out there. Need to talk to someone in charge."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer asshole, you ask me," commented Alec.

"Yeah, but -" began Lisa, only to be interrupted by the intercom.

_"What's your problem?"_

Lisa hit the button again. "I said someone in charge, not a corporal. I need an officer, or Piggot if she's available."

In the silence that followed, she turned back to Alec. "The problem is that they'll be lashing out at everyone around them. Everyone who's ever clashed with them is a suspect. If we -"

_"Lieutenant Drummond here. What's your problem?"_

Lisa turned back to the intercom. "Nice try, Sergeant, but I suppose you'll have to do. Get on to the real Drummond and let him know that there's a couple of your men in imminent danger right now."

_"What? Who? How do you even know this?"_

Lisa sighed. "It's what I _do_, Sergeant. The men in question are the ones that were sent to care for the dogs belonging to Hellhound, of the Undersiders. They're located right next to Empire Eighty-Eight territory. E88's just been unmasked, all of them. They'll be lashing out at everyone around them. I repeat, your men are in _danger."_

There was a pause.

_"Thanks for that information, Tattletale, but those men would have already been pulled back."_

Rachel lunged forward and jammed her finger on the button. "What about my dogs, asshole? What about my dogs?"

_"Sorry, kid, but they're on their own."_

The intercom clicked off. Rachel turned to the others; her eyes seemed to be glowing with an inner light. Beside her, Brutus caught her mood, and growled softly.

"Like _fuck_ they are."

=/=

Danny Hebert

"This is really good, Mr Hebert!"

Danny grinned as Amy spoke with her mouth half-full of omelette.

"Well, eat up," he advised her. "Whatever you and Taylor don't finish, put in the fridge for later.". He raised a finger. "And call me Danny. Calling me 'Mr Hebert' makes me feel old."

"Are you sure it's okay?"

"Sure I'm sure," he told her. "You're a guest in my home. It's all good."

She ate some more omelette. "Thanks again for letting me stay here," she told him after she had swallowed the forkful.

"It's really not a problem," he assured her. "Besides, you needed a place to stay, and Mike Allen's done a lot for Taylor. So we're glad to have you."

Draping his coat over his shoulder, he headed for the door. "See you this afternoon, Amy."

"See you later, Danny," he heard her say, just before he shut the door.

Heading around to the side of the house, he unlocked the car and got in. Starting it up, he backed down the driveway to the street.

_Nice kid, _he thought as he drove off down the road. _Taylor likes her, too. I think we'll get along just fine._

A thought made him smile. _A week ago I didn't have any superheroes living with me. Now I've got two. What's it going to be like next week? A whole team?_

=/=

Rachel Lindt (Bitch)

Rachel whistled sharply, and Brutus rammed his head into the wall of the guest quarters. It buckled and gave way, even as the hastily-installed nozzles spat containment foam, only to be thwarted by bedsheets held up by the other three.

Shouts of alarm by the PRT soldiers manning the guard post outside the door indicated just how badly they had been taken by surprise. _Fuckers don't know how strong my dogs get, and how fast I can make them grow, when I have to._

Lisa had told her to take Brutus into the bathroom, as if to give the dog a bath, and turn the shower on cold. Starting the transformation in there, Brutus was quite large before he wouldn't fit under the shower any more. By that time, his outer layers (so Lisa claimed) would be composed of dead flesh, much harder to spot with heat sensors.

She felt more than a little drained from that last growth spurt, but it had done the job. He bashed the wall again, enlarging the hole, and then Rachel swung astride his back, ducking low so she didn't hit her head on the ceiling.

The room filled with blackness, but she knew where the windows were. She urged Brutus that way, emerging from the cloud just before they hit it. A nudge of the knee and a whistle, and Brutus turned, kicking out with powerful hind legs. The window shattered outward, and she urged her mount back, out over the yawning chasm.

Just before Brutus started the descent, iron-hard claws wrenching holes in the outside window glass, she shouted through the open window.

"Get the other dogs! You promised!"

* * *

She would have given anything to go with them, to extract Judas and Angelina from wherever the PRT were holding them, but she had her other dogs to save.

Only Grue would have heard her words through his muffling fog, but he was enough. She trusted him, as much as she trusted anyone.

A word and a nudge, and Brutus turned and galloped _down_ the frontage of the building, claws digging in and swinging them around to a stop, every few floors. When she judged them low enough, she turned him, gave a command, and he leaped across the gap between the PRT building and the next one over.

Through all of this, she clung on to his back, one thought uppermost in her mind.

_I'm going to save my dogs._

=/=

Michael Allen (Security)

The bus pulled up at Winslow, and Mike climbed off of it. He hefted the backpack holding his equipment belt over his shoulder, and strolled toward the school. It had been a very eventful week; he was just glad it was Friday. Today would mark the end of the week's efforts in more than one way; tonight, he would pass on what knowledge he had regarding Scion and how to save the world.

Personally, he didn't have a hope in hell of implementing one-tenth of that knowledge in any reasonable fashion. He just had to hope that the ones that did, were in a mood to listen.

There was also the very real chance that he would be arrested afterward, for any one of several bendings or breakings of the law.

Perhaps he could have done it differently, but he hadn't seen a choice, at the time. And if it all worked out, if the world was indeed saved, would it be worth it?

_I'll just have to wait and see._

Mulling over that, he climbed the steps and entered the school proper. Down the hallways he walked, the tread of his heavy work boots echoing from the bare walls.

"_Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. He is the hero; he is everything."_

He chuckled as he recalled the Raymond Chandler quote. For a moment there, he had been imagining the halls of Winslow as the 'mean streets'. _And me as the hero. Hah._

_People like me don't get to be the heroes. We get to enable the heroes. Ask Hollywood._

* * *

He was still musing over the unfairness of the almost universal portrayal of the action hero as a straight, white, relatively young, fit male, when he entered the staff break room.

"Michael!" His head came up as he heard Gladys' voice.

"Morning, Gladys," he greeted her politely, mindful of those teachers already in the room.

"Can I have a word? I need to show you what those little vandals have been doing."

He nodded. "Sure. I'll just put my lunch pack in the fridge."

That task done, he followed her out of the staff room. She looked down at his belt. "Oh, I thought so."

He looked down at his belt. "Thought what?"

She reached down and plucked the phone from the belt pouch, then showed him an identical phone in her hand. "Guess what you picked up from my place?"

"Oh gawd." He rolled his eyes in self-recrimination. "Your phone. Shit, I'm sorry." Thumbing the phone to life, he checked the screen. "Well, at least I haven't missed any calls. Thanks for bringing it in."

She checked her own phone, which was also clear of pending calls. "Ah, you did get a call. From a certain Director Piggot."

Mike's eyebrows went up, and he turned to stroll away down the corridor, away from a group of teachers who had emerged from the staff room. Gladys strolled with him. "And what did the winsome Emily Piggot want?"

Gladys frowned. "She wanted me to pass on a message; she was quite insistent about it. She said to tell you that a Mr Anders is looking for you."

For a moment, Mike was puzzled. _I don't know any -_

_Oh shit. Yes, I do._

He turned to her. "That's exactly what she said. A Mr Anders is looking for me? Nothing more?"

She shook her head doubtfully. "Nothing that I recall."

He nodded slowly. "Right. Okay." A deep breath. "I'm going to have to call off our date tomorrow, then."

She stared at him. "Michael Allen! Don't you dare!"

"I – I don't have a choice," he confessed. "I think I screwed up, and now I've got a supervillain gunning for me."

She pulled him into her classroom, and closed the door firmly. "You had better tell me more than that, Mr Allen, or you'll have more than a supervillain after your blood."

He took another deep breath. "Okay. Last night, we took down a pretty nasty villain. One of the things he was doing was gathering a dossier on Empire Eighty-Eight."

"A dossier?"

"Information on who each and every last one of them is. Real names, faces, the lot."

She nodded. "In other words, explosive information."

"More like thermonuclear. Disseminating information like that is akin to touching off a nuclear war. No holds are barred. It's why they _have_ unwritten rules."

"So … you took him down. The information is safe, is it not?"

Mike grimaced. "Apparently not. If Kaiser – Max Anders – is after me, it's because I told his wife to get out of town, yesterday."

Gladys stared at him. "You did what?"

Mike shrugged. "You've heard of Purity?"

"Yes, of course. She's a powerful flying blaster."

"Her real name is Kayden, she's been separated from Max for a year or more, and she has an utterly adorable infant child called Aster. If I hadn't warned her, then Child Services may well have taken Aster away, or tried to. Kayden is … let's say, fanatically protective of her child."

"Oh. Oh, my."

Mike nodded. "Exactly. I warned her because I didn't want the bloodbath that occurred when they did take Aster away, in the other timeline. And it turns out that there was another dossier, probably on an offsite system. And it looks like it dumped it online last night. Max contacts Kayden, she tells him that she's out of town, drops my name -"

She put both hands to her mouth. "Oh, Michael!"

He shook his head. "Not my real name. Just 'Security'. So now he's looking for Security. Probably for answers to questions like 'you warned my wife but not me – why?'"

"Uh – why didn't you?"

His voice was flat. "Because Kaiser is a racist, manipulative neo-Nazi son of a bitch, and I won't give him the time of day if I can possibly help it."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well, in the first place, I'm going to retire 'Security'. I think I'll stay as small-S 'security' for the time being."

"And in the second place?"

"Make zero waves. Drop off the radar. After tonight, I'm going to stay home all weekend and talk to as few people as possible."

She frowned. "Could you not seek protective custody?"

He chuckled wryly. "I'm a little on the nose with the PRT right now. A little matter of a few broken laws, and not telling them everything until quite a bit after the fact."

"But still. Kaiser."

He nodded reluctantly. "You have a point. Maybe I will."

"Good," she told him. "Because I -"

At that moment, his phone rang. He let it ring, waiting for Gladys to finish; she gestured for him to get it.

Pulling it out, he touched the green icon.

* * *

"Hello?"

"_Ah, you have your phone back, then."_ He recognised Director Piggot's voice.

"I do indeed, thank you. And I got your message. Is this about that?"

"_No, it is not. It is about the Undersiders."_

He felt a chill run down his back. "What about them? What's happened?"

"_They've escaped, that's what happened."_

Mike shook his head. "No, no, that's not right. I had it sorted. You knew what each of them wanted from you. It was going to happen."

"_Well, it's unhappened. They broke out – using the dog you so kindly allowed Ms Lindt to have."_

"No, seriously, what happened? What went wrong? What changed?"

"_I'm still investigating the situation, but it is clear that they have escaped from lawful custody. When we next see the Undersiders, they will be treated as criminals."_

"Look, can you hold off on any arrest warrants till you find out what set them off?" pleaded Mike. "It had to be _something."_

"_It's too late, Mr Allen," _he heard Piggot's implacable voice. _"You don't call the shots around here. That capability falls to me, and I say they are criminals. Which reminds me; there are other matters that the PRT would like to discuss with you."_

All of a sudden, Mike had an epiphany. The lightbulb that flashed on over his head was almost blinding in its intensity.

"Ah. I _get_ it. I see what you're doing here."

"_You do?"_

"Yes." Mike's voice was flat. "You want answers to questions, and you're going to hold anything and everything you can hostage until I give."

The silence that greeted his statement was as good as a signed confession.

"Am I right?"

"_Not ... necessarily, but it would be good to get the answers to certain questions."_

"In other words, yes. Right. Fine. I'll give you chapter and verse."

"_When and where?"_

"I'm holding a get-together at my place tonight, but I'll contact you afterward to sort something out."

"_I will be awaiting your call."_

She hung up; after a moment, he closed the call at his end.

* * *

Gladys was staring at him. "That did not sound good."

He shook his head. "That was the sound of a great many chickens coming home to roost. And some of them are pterodactyls."

"Oh, _Michael."_ She took him in her arms; for a long moment, he held her, felt her arms holding him. Refuge from a crazy, unfair world.

But then he had to disengage from her. "I have to do my rounds," he told her. "And think. Mainly think."

She nodded, and pecked him quickly on the lips. "For luck," she murmured.

He smiled and held her hand for just a moment. "Thanks."

And then he pushed his way out through the door, and started on his rounds.

_What the fuck do I do now?_

=/=

Brian Laborn (Grue)

"Lisa! Which way?"

Brian sent a fresh wave of darkness down the corridor that they had just come from. A PRT soldier was probing his way through the darkness, gun raised. Brian found it hard to believe that the man could not see him, but of course the darkness cloaked all sight.

"Alec!" he snapped, drawing the slim youth off to the side. The soldier emerged from the billows of darkness, and Alec acted; immediately, the soldier seemed to suffer a seizure, dancing and shaking before falling to the ground. Brian rolled him over, pulled zip-ties from the man's belt, and secured him with them.

"You know," observed Alec, "you could just pop 'em. They're trying to shoot us, after all." He had a bloody graze on one arm, relic of a close encounter a few minutes before.

"No," Brian told him firmly. "No killing, not here."

"Got 'em," Lisa announced, almost at the same time. "Down this way."

Spreading darkness as widely as he could, Brian led the way, guided by Lisa. It was only a few minutes later that they found the room in which Rachel's two dogs were incarcerated. They looked up, wagging their tails, at the familiar scents.

"Come on Judas, come on Angelica," Brian coaxed them. "Heel."

They trotted out of the room readily enough, and sat at his heel.

"Right," muttered Alec. "All we have to do now is fight our way out of here."

"Easiest thing in the world," grinned Lisa. Striding to a nearby wall, she grabbed the protruding toggle of a fire alarm, and yanked it.

* * *

The sirens were still blaring, some minutes later, as they made their way down to the ground floor in the midst of a crowd of civilian employees. Lisa had located closets holding spare clothing, and they moved along with everyone else. Sprinklers were going off in some areas, which made everyone equally bedraggled. Judas and Angelica moved at Brian's heels as if they were glued there.

The ground floor lobby posed another problem; armoured PRT troopers stood surveying the crowd as they surged through the doors and outside. They held containment foam sprayers at the ready.

"Cute," Lisa observed. "Hit 'em with your darkness, and they just hose down that area."

Brian nodded. "Alec?"

Down below, one of the PRT troopers turned sideways and let fly; the other troopers were mostly caught unawares; some fired back. Containment foam flew wildly. The civilians cried out, threatening panic.

Brian released his darkness, spreading it over the whole room. He held Alec's wrist; Lisa was behind Alec. Together, they wormed their way through the crowd; by virtue of his superior strength and height, Brian was able to keep moving forward.

At last, they were clear, in the midst of a spreading cloud of darkness. They hiked two blocks before they felt safe in ducking into an alley and removing their disguises. Lisa let her hair down from the bun, and discarded the glasses she had found on someone's desk; she immediately looked sixteen again.

"Okay," decided Brian. "Let's go meet up with Bitch."

=/=

Taylor Anne Hebert (Weaver)

Taylor found Mike sitting on his folding chair, at the top of the steps. He seemed more pensive than normal; she sat on the step nearby and started on her lunch.

After a few moments, he looked down at her. "Hey. How's it going with Amy?"

She grinned up at him. "It's great. Did you know she's a biokinetic?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

She gave him a dirty look. "You knew."

A nod. "Sure, but that's one of the reasons I had her placed with you."

She stared. "You _wanted _us to meet?"

"Yup. She fiddles living things. Bugs are living things."

Her stare intensified. "We were talking about that just last night!"

He took a drink from his juice popper. "Imagine that." A grin. "There's a word I'd like you to consider."

Her tone was wary. "What word?"

"'Synergy'."

She blinked rapidly behind her glasses. "When two things work together to get a result greater than the sum of the parts." A pause, while she thought rapidly. "Amy and me."

He nodded. "Yup. Have you already discussed this sort of thing?"

"Yeah. She wants to try to engineer a black widow with a stronger silk."

"As strong as the Darwin's bark spider, for instance?" Mike suggested innocently.

"How do you – right, of course you'd know that," Taylor realised. "But yeah. We're gonna work on it after school."

"Cool. But you know, there's other things you and she can work on, once you get that done."

She was intrigued. "Such as?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Let me tell you a story of something that happened, once upon a time, and didn't happen, all at the same time. Or to put it another way, it didn't happen yesterday, in the Brockton Bay Central Bank."

With those words, he had her complete and total attention. "Is this about … me and the Undersiders?"

He nodded. "Now, you had tried to be a hero. You met Lung, and the Undersiders saved you from him. But afterward, you met Armsmaster, and he was a bit of a dick. So when the Undersiders offered you a place, you took it. You were still trying to be a hero, so you decided to go undercover, to turn the Undersiders in. All you needed was the name of their boss."

"Coil," Taylor supplied, to show she was paying attention.

"Give the lady a cigar. But you didn't know that then. However, when you contacted Armsmaster to try to sort out a deal so that if things went pear-shaped during the bank robbery, you wouldn't be arrested. He was kind of pissed at you, because he hadn't paid attention when you told him that Lung had lots of venom in him -"

"Which is why you had me stress it to the PRT guys!" Taylor realised.

"Exactly and precisely," he agreed. "Lung in that timeline nearly died. He did lose something very important to him. It grew back, but he was very, very pissed at you."

Taylor's eyes opened wide. "Ew," she muttered. "Ew ew ew."

Mike grinned momentarily. "Yeah," he agreed. "So anyway, Armsmaster shut you down hard. So when you went into the bank, you were on your own. So you decided to do your best on your own. One of the first things that you did when you went in was place a black widow, or two, or three, on everyone in there."

She was shocked. "I'd never -"

"Oh, you never intended to _harm _anyone, and you didn't," he assured her. "It was just to make sure that no-one tried to be a hero, and get themselves or others hurt."

She nodded judiciously. "I can see that. Sort of. In a twisted way, that makes sense."

He chuckled. "You were feeling _so_ damn guilty, right then."

She stared at him. "How do you – never mind. What happened then?"

"Well, remember who else was in that bank?"

Taylor nodded. "Panacea."

"Exactly. She had a go at clocking you with a fire extinguisher. You might say, she tried to put your lights out with it."

Taylor groaned. "That was bad."

A grin from Mike. "Thanks."

"Wait a minute." Taylor was thinking hard. "I can locate my bugs. How did she get so close to me?"

Mike held his finger in the air. "Ah. Here we discover the nub of the story. She had located the black widows, and she had … manipulated them. Interfered with the feedback you get from them. Basically, she fiddled with the part of their brain that receives the signal you send to them. You were getting a headache, a horrible feedback loop, that screwed with your ability to locate them. Everyone else, you see, was heading upstairs and out of harm's way, while she took you on with the fire extinguisher."

"Wow," breathed Taylor. "That's all kinds of heroic."

Mike nodded. "She did her best. Unfortunately for her, Tattletale interfered, pointed out the spiders on her, and you killed them. It got messy. Panacea and Glory Girl got hurt, mentally and physically. After that, there was no way you two would ever develop a close friendship, or anything resembling trust."

Taylor grimaced. "Ouch." She paused. "But this time round … "

Mike nodded. "Exactly. She's going to need a friend, and a moral compass, someone to talk things over with. I can't think of a better choice."

Taylor felt her cheeks heating up. "Okay, wow. I'm going to be blushing for the rest of the day."

Mike spread his hands. "It's true. Now, there's a sort-of kind-of epilogue for this story."

"I'm all ears."

"Some little time later, after Leviathan, the Slaughterhouse Nine and I think Echidna had their turns on Brockton Bay -"

Taylor interrupted. "Wait – Echidna?"

Mike nodded. "You met her. A nice girl called Noelle Meinhardt."

"Oh yeah, I remember." Taylor paused. "What … did she do, in the other timeline?"

Mike's voice was bleak. "Killed lots of people. Including some capes. Myrddin, among others. Completed the collapse of Coil's base. And exposed something that caused a mega-crapton of problems, later on."

"Exposed what?"

Mike shook his head. "Not here. Not now. Perhaps later."

"That bad, huh?"

"Let's put it this way; I'm not even going to tell you the name."

"Oh, wow. So; Slaughterhouse Nine, Leviathan and this Echidna have had their turn, you were saying?"

"Yeah," confirmed Mike. "Actually, I think it was while you were working on booting the Nine out of Brockton Bay. She gave you some bugs. At the time, she didn't trust you as far as she could throw you. Given that you laid an extendible baton upside her head in the bank, once upon a time."

"I don't have an extendible baton," Taylor observed. "Where can I get one?"

"I can get you one," Mike offered.

"Really?"

Mike nodded. "Anyway, we're getting off track. These bugs she gave you, they extended the range of your power. Basically, they acted as a relay. But she made them without digestive systems, so they'd die in a few days." He gave her a grin. "But this time round … "

Taylor's head was spinning with the possibilities. "Oh god yes."

"Just be sure they won't breed into plague proportions," he warned her. "My suggestion is to have her make them with the ability to mate, but no instinct to do so. You have to actually control them and make them mate. That way, if a bunch leave your range, they just live but don't breed."

Taylor nodded. "Yes, that makes sense. A lot of sense."

Mike grinned. "Good. Just remember; a power like Amy's, coupled with a power like yours, could easily lead to some horribly overpowered situations. This could draw the attention of the PRT. Very unfriendly attention. So keep a lid on it. Keep everything under strict control. Got it?"

Taylor nodded earnestly. "Got it. And thanks. Really, thanks."

He stood up and stretched. "Excellent. I've been meaning to have that particular chat with you for a while. Good that we finally got it sorted."

He held out his fist; she bumped it. The gesture brought out a familiar glow of pride, of happiness, within her.

"Mike ..." she ventured.

He turned, halfway through the process of gathering up his lunch items. "Yeah?"

"Do you really … trust … me? As a superhero, that is? To do the right thing?"

His gaze upon her was proud and paternal. "Taylor," he told her firmly, "there is no-one I trust more."

As she entered the front doors of the school once more, Taylor felt that her feet were six inches off the ground.

She had never been prouder to be a superhero.

* * *

End of Chapter Twenty-Five


	26. Chapter 26

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Gathering Storm

* * *

**Earlier:**

* * *

Sergeant Joelle Hamlin, PRT

_"Sergeant, the Empire Eighty-Eight has been outed. They are likely to react unpredictably. You're right on the edge of their territory. You and your men are badly exposed there. Your orders are to pull back to base, ASAP."_

"Sir, I was ordered to stay here and protect these dogs."

"_Sergeant, who gave you those orders?"_

"Sir, Lieutenant Grant, sir."

"_Sergeant, this is Captain Mitchell speaking. I am countermanding those orders. Pull back to base, __**immediately**__."_

"Sir, can we at least get a truck here, to get these dogs back to base?"

"_No, you can not, sergeant. Immediately means 'not waiting for a truck to get to you'. What's happening with the Empire Eighty-Eight is more important than any dogs are likely to be. You have your orders, sergeant. Carry them out."_

"Message received and understood. Hamlin, out."

Sergeant Hamlin keyed off the radio and looked around at the crude shelter which housed the dogs. Several nudged up to her, and she stroked their ears reflexively. Trooper Kitwell was helping Corporal Fredericks feed them; there was a lot of chow stored here, but it wasn't going to last too much longer.

She walked over to them. "Boys, we have a situation. Last night, someone outed the Empire. They're likely to be pissed. We've just gotten orders to pull back to base."

Kitwell looked at the dogs crowding around them. "They sending a truck for these guys?"

Hamlin shook her head. "I asked. No go."

"So they're just ordering us to abandon them?" asked Fredericks. "That sucks."

Kitwell looked over at the light four-wheel-drive in which they had arrived. "How many could we take, if we crowded them in?"

"Not enough," Hamlin stated definitively. "My dad raised dogs; I know."

"Sarge," offered Fredericks nervously, "we don't leave soon, we're gonna be in violation of orders."

"More than you know," Hamlin told him. "We were told to pull back ASAP." She raised an eyebrow. "Anxious to get moving?"

Fredericks shook his head. "Not saying that, sarge. Just … if we're gonna do something, then maybe we should do it soon? I'd rather live long enough to get in trouble for this."

Hamlin frowned. "Okay, I'm going to come out and say this. I'm about to violate orders. Neither of you has to do this. You can get back to base; I'll take the heat."

Fredericks shook his head. "Sorry, sergeant. But I figure to stay. Kitwell, you can go if you want."

Kitwell shook his head. "I'd probably get in trouble anyway." He paused. "This is just an idea," he suggested, "but if we put these guys somewhere out of the way, then the Empire boys could come straight through, and no-one gets hurt."

"Not enough of them know 'come' and 'heel'," Hamlin pointed out. "They likely wouldn't follow us. Even if we opened the gate and let them out, they'd probably come straight back here."

"They've mostly got collars," Fredericks pointed out. "We got enough rope to make leashes for them all?"

"Check the four-by," ordered Hamlin. "Kitwell, look around the area, see if you can't scare up some rope as well."

There was indeed some rope in the vehicle, and some more, including already-constructed leashes of varying lengths, on site. With the assistance of their utility knives, they cut the rope into manageable lengths, and began tying them to the collars of those dogs that had them.

They had almost finished when Kitwell glanced up; almost at the same time, some of the dogs started barking.

Hamlin looked up as well, and cursed.

The Empire Eighty-Eight had arrived.

=/=/=

* * *

**Now:**

* * *

Bitch (Rachel Lindt)

She clung to Brutus' back, even as she urged him to his best speed. He galloped on gamely, claws gouging chunks from the concrete of the pavement. An intersection loomed; she gave him the signal to jump, and he leaped, kicking off from a car halfway across. The fact that the car roof was half caved in, and half torn off at the same time, did not even register to her, and nor would it have bothered her if it had. It was not her concern.

Her entire world consisted, right now, of the dogs at her makeshift shelter, which she had been assured would be cared for, and Brutus. She knew she was leaving Judas and Angelina behind at the PRT building, but she also trusted Grue to get them out. She didn't like Regent very much, and she didn't trust Tattletale – the one never showed emotions, and the other talked too much – but Grue was someone she could trust to do what he said he would do.

Police sirens sounded behind her; she pointed Brutus at the nearest building and urged him on with word and knee pressure. He leaped and climbed, scrambling on top of the building before the cops could get close. Rachel grinned savagely; she'd been doing this dance for years. Brutus travelled just as fast across the rooftops as he did along the ground, and there were more options up here.

Soon she was out of the city centre and heading for the Docklands; here, the roads were wider, and Brutus could really stretch out and run. With her power supplying him, he had boundless energy, easily enough for a simple run across the city. He was enjoying it; mouth open and tongue lolling as he bounded along. Those few cars that she encountered got out of the way, as well they should, given that she was looking _down_ at them from atop Brutus' back.

She heard the dogs barking before she reached the shelter in the half-constructed building. She also heard men yelling, which made her angry. You didn't yell at dogs; you spoke to them. Yelling at them just agitated them. People were stupid about dogs; they seemed to expect dogs to act like people, which they weren't. People were people, and dogs were dogs. She didn't understand people that well, and her education was strictly limited to what she had learned on the street, but even she knew that.

_Rachel_ understood dogs. She understood them better than most people understood other people, and a lot better than _she_ understood people. And right now, she was hearing anger and get-out-of-my-territory and I-can-see-a-stranger.

It was like Lisa had said; Empire Eighty-Eight territory butted on to this land, and since they had been outed, the Empire thugs would be out and about, trying to make the point that they were still viable, that they still held land.

Unfortunately, the land they were looking to grab belonged to Rachel and her dogs.

Unfortunately for _them,_ that is.

=/=/=

There appeared to be a stand-off of sorts going on. Within the fence, Rachel could see three PRT soldiers, standing amid her dogs.

_I thought that jerk said the soldiers had been pulled back._

Outside was a bunch of at least ten Empire Eighty-Eight thugs, all heavily armed, all adopting menacing postures. Guns were being waved, but not specifically pointed as yet. One man stepped forward and put his hand on the gate; the smaller of the three soldiers pointed a rifle. The gesture was silent but unequivocal. _Open that gate and I kill you._

=/=/=

Corporal Gordon Fredericks, PRT

Fredericks had to admire the way that the sergeant was keeping her cool. Even in the face of shouted threats from the Empire Eighty-Eight goons, she was unflustered, unmoving. However, he knew that it could not last; sooner or later, this was going to escalate into shooting, and body armour or no body armour, that was going to get very dangerous for all concerned, very quickly.

"Just step aside, get in your cute little car, and go!" shouted the self-appointed spokesman for the Empire thugs. "Leave the doggies to us!"

"Yeah," agreed another. "We're real good with dogs."

Hamlin shook her head. "Sorry, boys. We got given orders. For the duration, these are _our_ dogs. This ground we're standing on? PRT ground. You want to walk around us, and keep walking."

Fredericks had his rifle unslung, watching the group outside the fence, trying to guess which one was going to push too hard, where the first trouble would come from.

If push came to shove, of course, he and the other two could mow down the Empire thugs with ease. But there were likely to be more, in close proximity. Massed assault-rifle fire would draw them like flies.

The shot, when it came, surprised and stunned him, not least because he was hit in the abdomen. He almost doubled over with the pain; it must have been an armour-piercing shot, because he felt warm blood tricking down his skin inside the armour. As if in slow motion, he went to his knees.

=/=/=

Trooper Edward Kitwell, PRT

Kitwell saw Fredericks fold, and he brought up his rifle, trying to determine who had fired. But then there was a tremendously loud growl, and _something_ tore into the bunch of Empire goons. It was big, and it was fast, and there was an auburn-haired girl riding on its back. He recognised it from pictures he had seen of Hellhound's dogs; somewhere between a dog and a dinosaur, with bone spurs protruding here and there.

The dog-thing barrelled into the group of them, knocking them aside with the force of its charge. Two screamed as they were trampled underfoot; a third, the one with the gun, was caught up in the thing's jaws, and shaken horribly before being tossed aside like a rag doll.

The girl on its back – Hellhound? - gave a whistle, and the thing wheeled like a trained cavalry horse. Several of the surviving Empire thugs were trying to shoot at the girl now; Hamlin shot two, and Kitwell shot a third. The sergeant hadn't even had to give the order. At the same time, the dog-monster closed its massive jaws around another man. The others were knocked aside and down once more. After the third shake, the man was either unconscious or pretending really well to be so; he was tossed him aside as well.

Mere moments later, all the Empire Eighty-Eight thugs were dead, too badly injured to flee, or fled.

"Kitwell," ordered Hamlin. "Get the gate." She herself pulled out a first aid pack and knelt beside Fredericks. The man was still conscious, but he was breathing shallowly.

Kitwell opened the gate; the massive dog trod into the compound, its rider still glowering.

"Good dog," she told the monster creature, as she slid off of its back. "Good dog." She approached Hamlin. "He gonna live?"

"Not sure yet," Hamlin grunted, a syringe held sideways in her mouth as she worked to get Fredericks' body armour off. "Kitwell, give me a hand here."

Kitwell obliged, and Hamlin gave her subordinate the injection. She glanced up at the newcomer. "Ah, thanks for the save, uh, Hellhound, is it?"

"They call me Bitch," the girl told her shortly. "What are you still doing here?"

"We didn't want to leave the dogs," the sergeant told her. "We were just fixing up leashes. We were going to lead them to some place of safety." Swabbing the bloody mess from Fredericks's abdomen revealed a ragged wound, slowly pulsing blood. She accepted a gauze pad from Kitwell and began to tape it into place.

Bitch frowned. "Why were you gonna do that? They weren't _your_ dogs."

"No," Hamlin told her, "but they're still dogs. And it was the Director who gave Grant the orders to put us here, so I figure it's more important than people understand."

Bitch was, from her expression, still working that one out, when the dogs started barking again. Hamlin was still busy with Fredericks, and Kitwell's hands were also full, but Bitch's cursing was eloquent and bitter.

"Fuck _me._ Can't those fuckers take a hint?"

The Empire Eighty-Eight was back.

=/=/=

* * *

"_Kaiser."_

"_Krieg."_

"_Talk to me, James."_

"_There's word from some of our boys, moving into Undersider territory."_

"_What word?"_

"_The Undersiders must not all be in custody. The dog girl – Bitch – is out and about. She's attacking our men."_

"_Are you near a TV?"_

"_No, why?"_

"_The news just broke. The Undersiders escaped from the PRT building just a little while ago."_

"_God __**damn**__ it. Why couldn't the PRT suspend their revolving door policy just for once? Those kids are a real pain in the neck."_

"_Don't worry about the Undersiders. Keep turning over rocks. I want to know who outed us, and I want to know yesterday."_

"_I'm on it."_

"_I'm going to that meeting now. Hold my calls till I get back."_

"_Understood."_

* * *

=/=/=

Grue (Brian Laborn)

"That one there."

Brian did not argue, did not question her. He simply broke the side window, reached in and opened the door. When he unlocked the far side door, Lisa slid in, reached up, and pulled the keys from atop the sunshade. Her expression as she handed them to him was insufferably smug.

He didn't even bother commenting as he put the keys in the ignition and started the car. Either one of them could have hot-wired it without much trouble, but using the key was easier.

Regent climbed into the back seat, and the dogs leaped after him. Grue let the clutch out as he gunned the engine. Rubber squealed against asphalt, and they were on their way.

The ride across town was hair-raising, especially as Lisa kept suggesting shortcuts; these were not necessarily what Brian would have called legal, or even safe. In the back, Regent hung on for dear life.

=/=/=

Gunshots began to be audible as they got close; rounding the corner, they saw what almost amounted to a warzone, or at least an ongoing firefight.

"Well, _fuck,"_ Lisa pronounced in tones of amazement. "They didn't pull them out after all. Even though they had orders to do just that." She frowned. "They _did_ give them the orders. But they refused to abandon the dogs."

On the one side, what seemed like a couple of PRT troopers had taken cover behind walls, and were exchanging sporadic fire with what looked like twenty-plus Empire Eighty-Eight goons. More goons were spreading out, trying to outflank the defenders.

"Hang on!" yelled Grue. He began to produce his darkness as fast as he could, and gunned the engine. A few thugs heard, and turned toward him; he aimed the car straight for them. They yelled in surprise and fright, and dived out of the way, only to be enveloped in the cloud of darkness as it rolled over them.

The gunfire slackened off as the car roared on through the battlefield, laying down what amounted to a heavy smokescreen. He pulled a bootlegger turn, laying down another swathe of blackness, before pulling to a halt in front of the gate.

The PRT personnel – there were two, with a third apparently injured – stared at him blankly as he leaped out. "Come on!" he yelled, "Let's get the dogs out of here!"

"I'm not going!" snapped Bitch stubbornly.

"If you stay, they will overrun you, and kill your dogs," Lisa pointed out.

Bitch scowled at her.

"You know I'm right," Lisa told her.

"Yeah," growled Bitch. "But I don't have to like it."

One of the PRT soldiers raised a hand. "I have wounded," she protested. "He can't go in the four-by. I'm gonna need your back seat."

"Fine," Grue told her. "Just so we get this sorted, fast."

Between himself and the taller unwounded trooper, they managed to get they guy placed on the back seat. The rest of the seat space they packed with dogs.

Not all the dogs, however; Bitch had picked her best trained animals and was enlarging them. The occasional probing shot whipped out of Grue's darkness, but these were more of a nuisance than dangerous. The sergeant returned fire a couple of times, to keep them honest.

When they were ready to go, Bitch climbed on to Brutus' back, along with Lisa and Regent. Judas and Angelina, released from the car, were alongside Brutus, along with a few others. They charged through Grue's thinning darkness and hit the Empire forces as they were massing for another attack. Half a dozen monster dogs tore a hole in the Empire ranks that let the car and the four-wheel drive roar on through unmolested.

They stopped several blocks away, and Bitch whistled all the dogs from the car; Grue climbed out as well.

Kitwell got behind the wheel of the four-wheel drive, while Hamlin got into the car.

"Just so you know, it's stolen," Grue informed her solemnly.

"Understood," she replied with a nod. "Thanks for pulling our asses out of the fire."

"Thanks for sticking by Bitch's dogs," he responded.

"I doubt it was the Director who gave the order to abandon them," she answered his unasked question.

He shrugged. "Be that as it may, it's gonna be a while before we trust the PRT again."

"That's fair." She put the car in gear. "I gotta get Fredericks back to base. Stay safe."

He nodded. "You too." He watched the two vehicles as they drove away, then turned to the others.

"Right," he told them. "Let's get under cover while we still can."

=/=/=

Kaiser (Max Anders)

Somer's Rock was quiet at this time of day. In point of fact, it was quiet at any time of day, but at the moment, it seemed to be positively deserted.

Max Anders climbed out of his limousine slowly and unhurriedly, as if he had all the time in the world. Menja got out on the other side, while Fenja and Stormtiger climbed out of the car behind. The drivers of both cars stayed with their vehicles, just in case.

_When one is under siege, there is no harm in a show of force._

Around the corner, a monstrous vehicle was parked; it had to be the work of Squealer. He grimaced. Anders disliked dealing with Skidmark at the best of times; the Empire's professed beliefs aside, Kaiser found the man's personality far more abhorrent than the colour of his skin.

"No matter what is said, we do not start a fight," he reminded his subordinates. The girls, he knew, would not start one in any case, but Stormtiger might.

Menja nodded. "If one starts, we won't be the ones to do it."

That was good enough for Max. He stepped forward and pushed open the door.

Within, the light level was low enough to make him blink a few times to try to adjust his eyesight. He did not break stride; that would be seen as a sign of weakness.

As he stepped away from the glare, details resolved themselves. The ABB was here; with Lung in PRT custody, this consisted of Oni Lee and a woman in her early twenties wearing an elaborate gasmask-style headpiece, with opaque goggles. This, Anders knew, was Bakuda. She was a Tinker who specialised in bombs of all types; Lung had brought her into the ABB just a couple of weeks ago.

Skidmark was here, of course, along with the trashily-dressed Squealer and the hulking Trainwreck. Max fastidiously averted his eyes from Skidmark's chapped lips and ruined teeth; the man was the leader of a gang that dealt drugs, certainly, but did he have to ruin his own body with them as well?

Faultline was also present, along with Gregor the Snail and Newter. Max nodded to Faultline - she was, by all accounts, as professional as they came - and then looked to the last cape attending the meeting. Circus had come alone; he had heard she had worked for Coil, which made her presence odd. Since waking, he had caught up on the news of the day; finding out that Coil had been captured by the PRT had been somewhat of a shock. He hoped that more details would be forthcoming from this meeting.

One table was set aside, with Faultline, Skidmark, Circus and Bakuda sitting at it. He wondered that Oni Lee was not standing in for his absent boss, but decided that ABB internal politics were not his concern. Pulling out the last chair, he sat.

"I've called you here today to discuss a problem facing all of us," he began without preamble.

"Yeah," responded Bakuda. "Security." The 'gas mask' had some electronics in it that made her voice flat, devoid of emotion.

"Are we talkin' about the act of bein' secure, or the man called Security?" interjected Skidmark. "Just so we're clear."

Anders sighed. "Both, but in this specific case, the latter." He glanced around. "The Travellers don't seem to be here."

"They won't be," Circus told him. "They're gone, and they took everything they owned with them. Which is quite a feat."

Max frowned. "I hadn't heard that they'd left town."

"They didn't, not the normal way," Skidmark claimed. "It was that soddin' Security bloke. He _did_ somethin' to 'em. Or Trickster anyway."

"Before we lose track of what this meeting is about, let's take stock," Anders stated. "Security has got _something_ to do with the fact that every single one of my people has been unmasked and outed. Even if he didn't do it, he undoubtedly knows who did."

Bakuda spoke into the silence that followed. "Word is, he was there when Lung was taken down."

"Wasn't that a new cape called Weaver?" asked Anders. He didn't disbelieve her, but it was all too common for new capes to be attributed feats and abilities through hearsay and rumour instead of fact.

"Oh yeah, she was there," Bakuda acknowledged. "But there was a page up on the PHO boards for someone called 'Security', linking that person to the Lung takedown and to Weaver, on Tuesday morning." She paused for effect. "Twenty minutes after it went up, it got taken down again. Vanished off the net, like it had never been there."

"Fuckin' bullshit," commented Skidmark. Anders was impressed; he'd never heard the Merchant leader go so long without swearing before. He didn't count 'sodding'; for Skidmark, that was probably more like punctuation. "Those boards are moderated tighter'n a goldfish's arsehole. No bastard could pull that off."

Bakuda was suddenly rolling a small, dully pulsing, ball between her fingers. "Doubt my word again, _Shitstain_, and we will see how many fingers you need to use your power."

Fenja shifted slightly in her seat; Anders shook his head fractionally.

"No fighting, and no threats," he snapped. The drug dealer and the bomb Tinker both subsided. "Now, Bakuda, can you verify this?"

"Not as such," she replied uncomfortably. "But my people saw it, and they don't lie. Not if they know what's good for them."

"All the same," Anders commented. "If this could be independently verified ..."

"I can verify it," Circus put in suddenly. All eyes turned to her.

"You saw this?" asked Max.

She shook her head, violently-dyed tresses waving wildly. "No, but Tuesday morning, the boss suddenly came out all excited -"

"Coil doesn't _do_ excited," Faultline corrected her.

"- well, as excited as he ever got. Told me to get out and about, and see what I could dig up on a high-powered Thinker called Security. Stuff he'd done in other cities, aliases, associates, the whole ball of yarn."

"And what did you find out?" asked Anders.

Circus shrugged. "Nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Which kinda made sense, given that he obviously had the chops to not only pull his page from the PHO boards, but also track down every computer that had that page in cache memory, and wipe it from there too."

There was silence while they digested this.

"Is there anything else you can tell us?" Max pressed.

Circus nodded. "Yeah. This is the scary bit. Wednesday afternoon, Coil gets back in contact with me, tells me to drop it."

"To drop it," repeated Anders.

"Yeah. Forget I ever heard of the guy. Anything I'd found out, to drop it, to bury it, destroy it." She shrugged. "Not that I'd found anything out. But it was what I heard when I got back to base that was scary."

"Which was?"

"Spoke to a couple of the guys. Just curious, y'know? Turns out he got a line on the guy, had him picked up. Taken to an offsite location for questioning."

She paused to sip the drink that she had already purchased. "So they've got the guy tied to a chair, and they pull the bag off his head, and he _laughs_. In Coil's face. Then he tells Coil he's got an offer that Coil can't refuse. He makes the offer and no shit, Coil lets him go."

Anders asked the question that was undoubtedly on everyone's mind. "What was the offer?"

Circus shrugged. "No fuckin' idea. Coil sent everyone out of the room. But according to my guy, Coil had that safe-house torched. And the guy who did the grab in the first place?" She leaned forward, lowering her voice dramatically. _"They never saw him again."_

"Did you at least get a description?"

Circus shook her head. "Said it wasn't worth his life. And right then, what with how definite the boss had been about forgetting everything about the guy, I wasn't feeling all _that_ curious at the time. The less I knew, the safer I was."

Anders rubbed his chin. "I see," he murmured. Steeling himself, he turned his gaze toward Skidmark. "You say that Security did away with the Travellers. How could you know that?"

=/=/=

Skidmark (Adam Mustain)

Mustain sniffed wetly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He wanted a hit of something, but this place wouldn't have anything worth his time.

"Well, see, after the PRT took Coil down last night, they questioned his mercs, then set 'em free. Told 'em to leave town an' never come back. One of 'em stopped by one of my dealers, lookin' for a pick-me-up. An' did _he_ have a fuckin' story to tell."

He went on to tell the story; or at least he tried to. He wasn't thinking as clearly as he did when he'd just had a hit of the pure stuff, so it wasn't his fault if he tended to ramble a bit. But every time he got a little too far off the topic, or got over-descriptive, Kaiser hauled him back on track.

_Bloody racist squarehead ..._

Stripped of such over-descriptive verbiage, it was a relatively simple tale. The PRT had gotten into the base through a secret entrance. They had with them several capes, including Armsmaster, Panacea and Glory Girl of New Wave, a girl with bright yellow hair, who sang like an angel -

"Canary?" exclaimed Kaiser.

Skidmark didn't have the first idea of who he was talking about; he shrugged. "Buggered if I know. Is it important?"

"We'll see. Anything else?"

"He said the Undersiders were there too -"

"That's impossible," interrupted Circus. "They were captured when they tried to rob the Brockton Bay Central Bank, yesterday. They're in custody."

"Not right now, they're not," Kaiser put in. "They escaped, and engaged with my men this morning." He looked somewhat displeased; Skidmark wasn't surprised.

"They were working _with_ the motherfucking PRT last night," he snapped. "Now, anyone _else_ got a comment?"

No-one did. Kaiser waved a hand. "Pray recommence your narrative."

Weaver had been there, related Skidmark, and last but not least, a big guy in PRT body armour, with a shaved head and a grey beard. Like Panacea and the girl who might have been Canary – whoever the fuck _she_ was - he had a PRT minder.

"Big, as in muscular?" asked Faultline.  
_  
Typical woman, wants to know if a guy's all hunky._

Skidmark shook his head. "Nah. Gut on him like a pregnant whale. Six foot, had to be three hundred pounds, is what the guy said." He grinned. "And get this - they were callin' him Security."

The man called Security, went on Skidmark, had walked around like he'd owned the place. He had gone into the the monster vault -

"The what, again?" asked Bakuda.

"A big vault in the base," explained Circus. "Coil kept a Case 53 in there. A girl from the waist up, monster from the waist down. Connected somehow to the Travellers. She's gone, too."

"For fuck's sake, let me finish," growled Skidmark.

Security had gone into the vault and come out with a girl who hadn't gone in with him. A normal girl, he stressed. Then he'd gone back _into_ the vault with the girl and with Trickster, who was the only member of the Travellers on site at the time, and he was the only one who'd come out.

"Is there another exit to that vault?" asked Faultline practically.

Circus shook her head. "No."

Bakuda scratched her head. "Are any of the Travellers teleporters?"

"Not in a useful way," Kaiser told her. "Trickster could swap two items, but he needed line of sight." He turned to Circus. "You say you've been in there since?"

"Yeah. It's been pretty well cleaned out, and there's PRT still on site, but I had a quick snoop around. Vault wide open, no monster. I went to the place they were living in, across town. All their stuff was gone; it's like they were never there. And I heard a rumour that Coil never made it to the PRT building either. Like, vanished en route."

=/=/=

Faultline (Melanie Fitts)

_That's interesting. _Faultline turned her head toward Kaiser. "Security, do you think?"

"Not enough data to even make a guess," he warned her. "So; Coil and the Travellers. The outing of the Empire. Lung. Am I missing something?"

"The Undersiders," Bakuda filled in. "They tried to rob the Central Bank, and got taken down by Weaver and the PRT. Weaver's a newbie cape. In fact, that was her first public appearance that I can find."

"Yeah, so?" asked Skidmark.

"When she took down Lung, Security was there. They were both in on the Coil bust. That makes two out of three. What if he was at the Central Bank as well?"

Faultline looked around at everyone else. "There were TV cameras there," she commented. "Lots of them."

Bakuda had her phone out. "Yeah, Weaver's PHO picture is actually from that footage. Now, let's see ..."

She hummed to herself, a little annoyingly, as she tapped away at the device. Faultline gritted her teeth and endured it. _Be professional, _she told herself. _If I shoot her here at the table, we won't get anything done_. But it was very tempting.

"Ah ha!" crowed the Tinker. "Fuckin' information age for the fuckin' win!" Her excitement was obvious, even through the electronic filtering.

She sat forward, her phone's screen playing what was obviously news footage. Weaver, tall and skinny with long curly hair, answering a few questions, then turning and making her way through the crowd. The camera followed her, until she was joined by someone. Someone a few inches taller than her; male, shaved head, grey beard, sunglasses. The suggestion of weight. Wearing a security guard uniform. Escorting her out of sight.

Moments later, a small car drove into sight, with the same man in the driver's seat; the passenger could not easily be made out. Nor could the licence plate; the TV station had blurred it out.

"Can you unscramble that?" asked Kaiser.

Faultline was fairly sure what the answer would be.

"Need a different type of Tinker for that," Bakuda told him. "But that's got to be him."

"So Security is … a security guard?" Faultline shook her head. "That sounds wrong, somehow. Too easy."

"So obvious that everyone overlooks it?" suggested Kaiser.

_I have to admit, he has a point. Security by obscurity._

"Well, now we got a face to go with the name," Bakuda observed. "Did anyone get a good look at the epaulette?"

No-one had; fingers dancing expertly over the phone's screen, she ran the footage back. There was no clear view of it; too many people were moving between the camera and the subject. She paused on a frame and tried to enlarge it, but to no avail.

"Blue and brown, I thought," Faultline suggested.

"I concur," Kaiser agreed.

Bakuda's gas mask made a strange sound, that Faultline decided must have been a snort. "Now we gotta find out what security company has blue and brown epaulettes, and then who works for which one -" She stopped, as if something had occurred to her. "Or not."

Everyone looked at her. "Yes?" asked Kaiser.

"This Security, he's only been doing stuff in Brockton Bay for the last week or so, right?"

"At most," agreed Kaiser. "No-one had heard of him before Lung."

"Well, there's a new security guard at Winslow High. He's been giving our boys some trouble. Stopping fights and shit."

=/=/=

Bakuda

"Ours, too," Kaiser agreed, as if that was news.

_Well, duh, of course yours too._

"Yeah, well, we sent Joey Lee around to explain to him that ABB fights when and where they want to fight," Bakuda went on. "He kicked Joey's ass. And Joey's no pushover."

"Get to the point," Faultline told her. Bakuda briefly considered bouncing the little bomb across the table and into her lap, but thought better of it.

"This guy's got a shaved head and a beard, and he's a big guy," she concluded.

There was a moment of silence as everyone considered this.

"You got a name, at least?" asked Circus.

Bakuda frowned under her gas mask. "Yeah, but not here. I don't remember what it was."

Kaiser had his phone out; he seemed to be scrolling through pages, as if looking for something.

"My day planner," he explained briefly. "I remember putting something in here about that." He paused. "Ah, yes. Michael Allen," he read out loud. "Wolfhound Security."

Bakuda opened a search engine and entered 'Wolfhound Security'. She called up the first page that presented itself. "Well, fuck."

"What?" asked Faultline.

Bakuda turned her phone around so that everyone could see. The Wolfhound logo showed up; a stylised dog's head, brown on a blue background.

Circus suddenly burst out laughing. Everyone stared at her.

"Holy shit," she cackled, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "I don't believe it. This guy who's been giving all of us so much trouble, he's been right there in the open all this time. You guys even had his_name!"_

Faultline's voice showed a mild amusement when she spoke. "He hasn't given my Crew any trouble at all. Although I am very interested in the implication that he was able to reverse the transformation of a Case 53."

Skidmark shrugged. "I'm good. Haven't had any trouble."

"You have to look at the wider picture," snapped Kaiser. "Coil is _gone._ So are the Travellers. The Undersiders were captured, possibly at Security's behest. He had _something_ to do with Lung's capture. That's two people and three gangs who would have been attending this meeting otherwise."

He looked around at the group. "I'm not betraying any confidences when I say that the information that's been dropped online has hurt me and mine – not fatally, not by a long shot, but it has still done us harm."

"So your point is …?" asked Faultline calmly. Bakuda was almost certain that the mercenary knew exactly the point that Kaiser intended to make, but was making him spell it out.

"My point is, he's making waves. A lot of them. Less than a week in town, and he's … I won't say 'overturned', but he has certainly upset the status quo. Three villain groups have been taken right off the board, and two others have been weakened."

Skidmark leaned back and grinned, showing his unsightly teeth once more. "Well, _I_ got no problems."

Kaiser turned to face him, eyes glinting grey. "Make one move on Empire Eighty-Eight territory, _drug dealer_, and you will find out just how weakened we really are."

Skidmark leaned forward again, placing both hands flat on the table. "Maybe I will."

Bakuda brought out the pulsing ball again. "Shitstain. Try to take advantage of this in _any_ way, and I will personally ensure that you do not live out the week."

She dearly wanted to carry out the threat, to show these self-important crime bosses that she was someone to respect. _Come on, make a move. Just try me._

Behind her welding mask, Faultline cleared her throat meaningfully.

Kaiser quite obviously reined his temper in. "Hold the threats. We need to decide what we're going to do about this."

Bakuda shrugged. "Kill him? We know where he works. We can find out where he lives." _The simple way is often the best._

"Unwritten rules … " Circus reminded her.

"Which he broke when he outed Empire Eighty-Eight," pointed out Kaiser.

"_If_ he was behind that," Faultline reminded them. "Kaiser; you haven't actually told us how you've tied him in to the outing of Empire Eighty-Eight."

Kaiser nodded. "I apologise for that," he acknowledged. "Yesterday, Purity got a phone call from this Security, warning her that we would be outed. Told her to leave town." He paused, thinking. "No, wait. She didn't say exactly that. One moment, please."

Calling up a number on his phone, he put it on speaker and set it to dial. It rang quite a few times before the person on the other end picked up.

=/=/=

Purity (Kayden Anders)

Kayden sighed. It was always the way; she would almost have gotten Aster down for her nap, and the phone would ring. "Theo, can you get that?" she called out, before recalling that she'd sent him to the convenience store for more diapers and formula.

It was so helpful to have him along; no-one looked twice at the pudgy teenager, and he could watch Aster while she got much-needed sleep. And of course, it meant that there was always someone to watch the baby when errands needed running.

Unfortunately, on this one occasion, Theo was out of the room when she needed a third hand.

There was nothing for it; she picked Aster up and cradled her while she went across the room and fetched the phone.

"Hello?"

It was Max on the line. _"Hello, Kayden."_

_As if he's casually calling to ask about the weather. But with Max, it's always calculated, never casual._

"What do _you_ want?"

"_I need you to tell me exactly what you told me over the phone, the last time we spoke. About Security."_

She sighed. _I knew I should never have mentioned that name to him._ "This again?"

"_I promise, I will not bother you again."_

_And you never break promises. Except when it suits you._

"Fine." She marshalled her thoughts. "He said a villain was gathering a dossier on all of us, and he was taking the villain down, and there was a chance that the dossier might get released anyway. So I should take Aster and get out of town." She paused. "Is that what you wanted?"

"_Yes, it is. Thank you, Kayden."_

"Don't call this number again." She hung up.

Just then, the door opened and Theo came in, laden down with groceries.

"Hi, Kayden. I'm back."

"Oh, good," she told him. "Put it down over there."

He did as he was told. "Do you need a hand with Aster?"

"If you wouldn't mind?" She smiled. It was so nice to have someone she could rely on.

=/=/=

Circus

Kaiser closed the call from his end, then placed the phone carefully on the table, squaring it in place with his thumbs and forefingers. Circus watched with interest.

"It appears that I may have been working on incorrect information," Kaiser stated at last.

Circus grinned internally, although she let no outward expression show. _Kaiser-speak for 'I fucked up', hah!_

Kaiser was still speaking. "One interpretation is that Coil had the dossier, Security knew it, arranged for Coil's arrest, and … perhaps Coil had an offsite backup, set to release it anyway?"

Faultline shrugged. "It fits his MO."

"In which case," Kaiser followed the line of thought, "he may well have warned Purity so that my daughter would not be endangered, just in case the dossier was released anyway."

Silence followed this pronouncement.

"Well, _that_ puts a different complexion on matters," Faultline observed quietly.

"I could be wrong," Kaiser reminded everyone. "And in any case, even if I am, I would rather we do not take precipitate action, not immediately. I would like to talk to this man."

Bakuda's gas mask made the strange snorting noise again. "_Talk_ to him, hell. He still took down Lung, captured the Undersiders, put the PRT on to Coil … "

"Yes," Kaiser told her patiently, "but in all those cases, he may very well have been working _within_ the rules."

Circus shook her head, then decided to voice her own concerns. "I don't get how he took down Coil, I really don't. The man was slippery as three snakes. No-one _ever _outguessed him. If this Security can do that, then he's someone to watch out for."

"It doesn't _matter_," Kaiser snapped. "If he didn't break the unwritten rules, we can't go after him in his civilian identity."

Faultline tilted her head. "Does he even _have_ a cape identity? Wear a mask or a costume? Or is he just a voice on the phone to most people?"

"Fuck it," Bakuda snapped. "He fucked with ABB, he dies. Simple as that."

"He warned my _wife_ to take my _child_ out of town," Kaiser grated.

"That might be part of a double bluff," Circus pointed out

"Or not," Kaiser replied. "We _don't know_. We don't have enough information."

"Actually, wait a moment," Faultline suggested. "Eyewitness accounts, second hand or no, have this guy _fixing_ a Case 53, then making that person as well as Trickster - and possibly all the Travellers, plus their belongings - just _vanish_. Also, outguessing Coil, and making it possible for a newbie cape and the PRT to capture the Undersiders … and hell, helping that same newbie cape to take down one of the all-time toughest capes in Brockton Bay. Plus, whatever it was he said to Coil that scared him enough to let the guy go. _And_ the hack job on the PHO boards."

She turned the cracked visor of her welding mask to each of the other people at the table, one at a time. "This guy's also, by all accounts, holding down a full-time job. Plus, he's apparently got serious pull with the PRT. If he can achieve all of this in his _spare time_, is he really someone we want to mess with?"

"I'm not going to _mess_ with him," Bakuda retorted. "I'm just going to blow him the fuck up." She started to get up from the table. "Nice meeting, guys. Time to go make me a mushroom cloud."

Kaiser's hand slapped flat on the table, with a sound like a rifle shot. Everyone in the place, except for the waitress, jumped. Belatedly, Circus recalled that Somer's Rock employed deaf waitstaff for this very reason. _"Sit. Down."_

Bakuda hesitated for a long moment, then regained her seat. "Seriously, what's your problem?"

"My problem is _you,"_ stated Kaiser firmly. "You are almost literally the definition of a loose cannon. We will end this meeting when I say we have ended this meeting, and we will end it on a consensus. _Not_with everyone going and doing what _they_ think they should be doing."

He looked at each person in turn, to ensure they had gotten the point. Circus decided that it was time to make a point of her own.

"Coil paid me, not you," she noted. "Until you pay me, you're not the boss of me."

"And Coil is unavailable for comment," Kaiser reminded her. "You represent … I'm not sure what you represent. The last remnant of his organisation? In any case, what were you intending to do about all this?"

Circus shrugged. "Find work, I guess." She looked around the table. "Not with the Merchants, though. No offence." _At least with the Empire and the ABB, I don't go away feeling like I need to scrub off a layer of skin just to get clean again._

Skidmark invited her to do something remarkably pornographic; she ignored him. "But no, I wasn't gonna go after this Security guy. Coil had him kidnapped, and then the very next day, Coil went down hard. Yeah, no, count me out."

Kaiser nodded. "Faultline?"

The woman in black shrugged. "I have no beef with him. And my Crew aren't assassins. He doesn't bother me, I don't bother him."

"A wise policy. Skidmark?"

The Merchant leader looked up from picking his teeth with his thumbnail, an activity that Circus would rather not have observed him doing. "One guy? Fuck 'im. You can deal with him if you want; I got better things to do."

Kaiser nodded. "So, Bakuda. It's you and I. You want to simply remove him. I, on the other hand, would like to talk to the man before doing anything more drastic." He raised an eyebrow. "I do hope that this does not become a problem between us."

She may have been glaring at him; Circus thought so, but she could not tell. "Lung's been taken down. The ABB needs to make a stand, to show we can't be bent over and fucked up the ass by any bastard with a grudge. We're gonna get out there, loud and proud, and anyone who gets in our way is _fucked._ Do you get me?"

"I get you." Kaiser's voice was hard and flat. "But understand this. Go after Security, harm him or anyone near him, before he and I have had a chance to speak, and I will take it _extremely_ _personally._ Do _you_get_ me?"_

There was a long pause. Finally Bakuda threw up her hands. "Fucking _okay, _all right? I'll leave him the fuck alone."

Getting up, she gestured to Oni Lee, and stormed out. The demon-masked man followed silently in her wake.

"She could be a problem," commented Faultline, into the silence that followed.

"If she becomes one, we will deal with it," Kaiser responded grimly.

"We might have to," Faultline cautioned him. "Lung's crazy, but Bakuda's unhinged." She paused. "So, when you said you wanted to talk to him, you meant ..."

"I meant that I want to _talk_ to him," Kaiser stressed. "Not interrogate. Coil came at him aggressively, and we saw how that ended. But I _do_ want to know what's going on, find out how he knew about the dossier, and possibly drop a hint to him that perhaps he should tone his activities down a little." He shrugged. "And perhaps, with the right offer, he might even be willing to consider joining my employment. I can always use a good Thinker."

He nodded to Circus and to Faultline. "Empire Eighty-Eight is not yet down and out. We still have assets. If need be, we may call upon your services. Will you be agreeable to this?"

Faultline nodded. "You pay, we'll play."

Circus didn't even bother saying that much; she simply rubbed finger and thumb together in the age-old gesture.

"Very well then," stated Kaiser. "It appears we have an agreement." He rose from his seat. "Good day to you."

Menja and Stormtiger went out the door before Kaiser, while Fenja stayed behind him. It was a simple enough precaution against attack; these _were_ villains, after all. But there was no attack, no ambush.

Skidmark got up next and sauntered out, with Squealer and Trainwreck following. Circus and Faultline were left at the table.

They looked at one another. "So, if you ever wanted to join -" Faultline offered.

Circus shook her head. "Nah. I prefer freelancing it. Keeps my options open."

Faultline nodded. "I can respect that. Ever change your mind, the offer will be there." She got to her feet, and shook Circus's hand. "Take care out there."

"You too." Circus watched her leave, with her two inhuman employees. Turning to the waitress, she signalled for another drink.

There would be a time to look for work. This wasn't it.

* * *

End of Chapter Twenty-Six


	27. Chapter 27

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter 27: Bomb Threat

* * *

"_Report."_

_Sergeant Hamlin stood foursquare in the Director's office, holding a posture of rigid attention._

"_Ma'am!" she snapped. "Myself, Corporal Fredericks and Private Kitwell were attending to the dogs belonging to the Undersider Rachel Lindt, also known as Bitch -"_

_Piggot cleared her throat, causing Hamlin to pause in her narration. "How did you come across the name 'Bitch', Sergeant?" she enquired._

"_Ma'am, she told us, ma'am," explained Hamlin._

_Director Piggot nodded. "Go on," she invited._

"_Thank you, ma'am." Hamlin paused for a moment, to collect her thoughts. "I received orders from a Captain Mitchell to pull out and return to base, ma'am. These orders countermanded those from Lieutenant Grant yesterday, to maintain a guard over the dogs, ma'am."_

_The Director leaned forward. "And did you?"_

_Sergeant Hamlin took a breath. "Not immediately, ma'am."_

"_Even though you knew that the Empire Eighty-Eight were likely to press hostilities." It wasn't a question._

_Hamlin maintained her absolute rigid posture of attention. "Ma'am, I knew those orders concerning the dogs came from you. I did not know whether Captain Mitchell was aware that the dogs belonged to … to Bitch. I attempted to carry out both sets of orders, to the best of my ability, ma'am."_

_Piggot raised an eyebrow. "And how, exactly, did you intend to do that?"_

"_Ma'am, we were making leashes, with which to lead the dogs away from the danger area. Take them to a place of safety. Once that was accomplished, we were going to report for duty, ma'am."_

"_Indeed." Not by expression or tone did the Director betray her feelings on the matter. "So then what happened?"_

_Sergeant Hamlin took a deep breath. "Some members of the Empire Eighty-Eight arrived. We had them at a stand-off, until one of them fired and wounded Corporal Fredericks."_

_Piggot's voice was very calm and level. "You are certain that neither Fredericks nor Kitwell fired first?"_

_Hamlin nodded decisively. "My orders were to that effect, ma'am, and I am certain that they carried them out. I examined Fredericks' rifle, afterward, and it had not been fired."_

_The Director nodded. "Very well. Continue."_

"_That was when she – Bitch – arrived, ma'am. She killed, wounded or chased off the Empire Eighty-Eight men. We were applying medical care to Fredericks, and making ready to move the dogs, when the Empire people came back, with reinforcements."_

"_You fired then, did you not?"_

_Hamlin nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We took cover, and we kept them at bay. We did not have enough ammunition for a running battle, so I ordered Kitwell to conserve his rounds. We aimed to wound, not to kill."_

_Piggot nodded again. That was standard tactical doctrine, against an undisciplined foe._

"_How long until the other Undersiders arrived?" she asked next._

_Hamlin frowned. "I'm … not certain, ma'am. Not more than fifteen minutes, I would guess. The one called Grue laid down a smoke screen and we exfiltrated without taking further casualties. We stopped a few blocks farther on, and they went their way, and we returned to base."_

_The Director regarded her impassively. "So, at no time in all of this, while you were armed with assault rifles, and they were not armed with much at all, did you consider perhaps taking them into custody?"_

_Hamlin shook her head. "Ma'am, no ma'am. Quite apart from the fact that they are all powered, we had wounded to take care of. Also, they did save our bacon."_

"_Indeed." Director Piggot laced her fingers before her. "Sergeant, you were correct in your assumption that the dogs were more important than Captain Mitchell understood. Your actions today may have far-reaching implications. However." Her brows lowered. "In not following Captain Mitchell's orders immediately and promptly, you and your men are technically guilty of insubordination."_

_Hamlin held her posture. "Ma'am."_

"_As such," continued the Director, "I am sentencing you each to one week of confinement to barracks; as this is infeasible under the current state of emergency, this sentence is postponed until further notice. Captain Mitchell will be spoken to on the matter; you are not to discuss this with him or anyone else. Do you understand me?"_

_Hamlin nodded once, jerkily. "Ma'am, yes, ma'am. Uh, may I ask a question, ma'am?"_

_Piggot let her sweat for a moment. "You may."_

"_How is Corporal Fredericks, ma'am?"_

"_He is out of surgery and doing well, I am told. The bullet penetrated only a short way." She paused. "You may apprise Kitwell of the circumstances; the orders pertaining to speaking to no-one on this matter extend to him as a matter of course." A slight tightening of the lips may have been mistaken as a smile. "You will have no trouble following __**that**__ order, I trust?"_

_Hamlin did her best to keep the relief from her voice. "No trouble at all, ma'am."_

_Piggot nodded toward the door. "Very well. Dismissed."_

"_Thank you, ma'am." Hamlin saluted crisply; it was returned, before the sergeant turned and marched from the room, back straight as a ramrod._

_The Director waited till the door closed before sighing and rubbing her brow. __**Now to deal with that idiot Mitchell.**_

=/=

The bell rang; Taylor headed toward her next class. I paced the halls of Winslow, thinking as hard as I could.

If Kaiser decided to confront me before I met with Contessa, then I was reasonably sure of my chances of survival. However, if he chose to wait until after, then it was anyone's game. Max Anders was, by all accounts, highly charismatic and not a totally unreasonable man; however, faced with the destruction of the Empire Eighty-Eight, and the collapse of Medhall – being, no doubt, the source of most of his legitimate funding – even a reasonable man might find himself performing unreasonable acts.

And this was not even counting the potential actions of Hookwolf, Fenja, Menja, Stormtiger … I shivered. Any one of those people could kill me with embarrassing ease, stab vest or no stab vest.

_Maybe I should have told Taylor, asked for her help?_

But no; this was not her fight. I did not want her putting herself between myself and any of Kaiser's forces that might come my way. If the price for my life was her death, then no.

I knew I was being less than smart about this, but I had put Taylor in enough danger over the last few days, and part of me still insisted on seeing her as a fifteen year old girl. This was something I had brought upon myself, and it was something I was going to have to face.

_Besides, maybe I can talk Kaiser out of doing me serious harm._

Whether or not I could actually do that, it was the course of action that I had chosen.

I paced on.

=/=

_Bakuda paced._

_As she paced, she swore, inventively and fluently. Skidmark would have been impressed. Oni Lee watched her, impassively. He was prepared to teleport at any moment; while Lung would give him adequate warning before a potentially lethal outburst, Bakuda would give no warning at all._

_The argument over who was leading the ABB had been over almost before it began; in truth, it had been no argument at all. Oni Lee was the older, and had seniority. But he lacked the fire, the spark, to lead. All he really knew how to do was to teleport, to kill. To follow orders. Somewhere along the way, he had lost his purpose, his originality. Bakuda had announced that she was in charge, and after a few token protests, he had given in. If anyone could lead the ABB through the disaster that was the loss of Lung, she could._

_But she had greater plans than that; she intended to attack the PRT themselves, to free Lung. She was still putting her plans in place for that, of course. A series of bombs all over the city, disrupting the peace, putting the authorities on edge, so that they did not know which way to look. Culminating, she boasted, in an attack that would leave them utterly unable to react, unable to stop the ABB from retaking its hold on the city once and for all._

_For now, she had smaller plans. Revenge. Revenge on one ageing, overweight security guard, for having the __**nerve**__, the __**gall**__, to help capture Lung._

_There were many ways to get this revenge; she could kill him at home, or at work. On the bus, or – an old favourite – in his car. No, wait, she recalled; his car had been damaged by the ABB boys at the school, in retaliation for his actions against them, and had been taken away for repairs. Perhaps she could find where it was being kept._

_The primary aspect of her revenge, of course, was that he would die, and it would be by her hand. Only then would the honour of the ABB be satisfied._

_But this was not why she was pacing and swearing. She was pacing and swearing because that smug, misbegotten racist sonovabitch Kaiser had forbidden her to take revenge upon Michael Allen until he, Kaiser, had spoken to him. Forbidden. Her._

_She wanted to blow something up. She wanted to see the smoke, the flame, hear the screams. She wanted to make use of her more exotic bomb effects, watch people turn to crystal or be trapped in the amber of a time-bubble, forever frozen. The urge to do so was visceral, primal._

_Snarling, she tossed the dully pulsing ball to Oni Lee. His new body was already standing behind her when he caught it; the small explosive charge went off, reducing his previous body to a spray of blood and flesh across the wall. And then the gore crumbled to ash._

_It wasn't enough, not really. She wanted to do this to all of Brockton Bay, one screaming victim at a time. But right now, her attention was focused on one man._

"_Fuck it," she decided. She turned to Oni Lee, totally oblivious to the fact that she had 'killed' him just moments earlier. "Come on. We're going to that damn school."_

=/=

My phone rang; for a moment, I thought it was the Director, ringing me back with news of the Undersiders. But the number did not look familiar. "Hello?"

"_Mike."_

I paused, glancing around. No-one was in earshot; in fact, I was the only one in the hallway. All the same, I lowered my voice.

"Tattletale. Lisa. Why did you break out? What happened?"

In my ear, Lisa sighed. _"We had to. Rachel's dogs were in danger."_

I groaned. "Ah shit. Empire Eighty-Eight? I _told_ the Director to put a guard on them."

"_I figured as much. We got told they'd been pulled back. Apparently the orders were actually given to do just that. One of her officers screwed up."_

I shook my head, despite the knowledge that Lisa could not see me. She probably knew, all the same. "For _fuck's _sake. Anyone hurt? Any of the dogs?"

"_None of us. One of the PRT guys took a hit, but we managed to get him out of there. We made a mess of the E-88 guys. The dogs are fine. I'll tell Rachel you asked after them."_

I felt relief wash over me. "Well, I'm just glad you guys are all right. You need anything? I can maybe smuggle supplies to you."

I heard the smile in her voice. _"Thanks, and we might take you up on that later. We're good for now. But this isn't why I called you." _All levity had left her tone by the time she finished talking.

I felt a chill down my spine. "Is this about Kaiser?"

"_You got told about the meeting?"_

I blinked. "Meeting?"

"_At Somer's Rock. If we weren't currently running and hiding, we would have attended. But I hear that Kaiser showed, along with Bakuda, Skidmark, Faultline and Circus."_

That bit was different. In canon, the meeting had excluded ABB (not surprising, given that the meeting had been about them) and had included Coil and the Undersiders.

I knew the answer to my next question before I asked it. "Do I need to ask you what the topic of conversation was?"

Her tone was sombre, confirming my suspicions. _"No. No, you do not."_

"Well, fuck."

"_There is some good news, though. But there's also bad news."_

"Good news first please?"

"_Kaiser wants to talk to you before taking definitive action against you. Faultline, Circus and Skidmark are willing to let him take lead."_

The chill had returned, and it was settling in for the long haul. "I notice that you did not mention Bakuda in that sentence."

Lisa's voice was uncomfortable in the extreme. _"No. Sorry. She wants to blow you up."_

"She's going to go against Kaiser?"

"_Apparently she agreed to hold off until he had spoken with you."_

"But you're dubious."

"_Hey, I'm supposed to be the intuitive one. But there's worse news."_

"I'm not actually sure that I want to know."

"_Yes, you do. They know your name, your face and where you are working."_

I sagged against the wall, blood pounding in my ears. "Please say that you're kidding me. That you're winding me up." My voice was a rasp, barely recognisable to me as my own.

Lisa's voice was sympathetic. _"Sorry. I wish I was."_

"Anything about my associates?"

"_Nothing that I heard about. Only you."_

"Well, I suppose that's kind of good news." I took a deep breath. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"_You played it straight with us. I thought I'd return the favour."_

"That, and you want to know how I know what I know."

"_Maybe a little of that too."_

"I get out of this, I'll be filling you in. I owe you that much."

"_You're welcome." _She hung up.

I stared blankly at the wall. _Not one, but two supervillains looking for me. And one of them is Bakuda._

_Fuck._

_What do I do __**now**__?_

And then, as the shock receded and my training took over, I knew exactly what I needed to do next. Should have done, in fact, as soon as I discovered that Bakuda was involved.

I stumbled to the nearest fire alarm and yanked it.

=/=

"_Do you understand the plan?" asked Bakuda, for perhaps the fifth time._

_Oni Lee felt vaguely annoyed. __**I am not as intelligent as she is, but there is no need to treat me as a puppet, a dummy.**_

"_Yes," he replied stolidly. "I let you in through the fire door. We go to the basement. I let you in there. We locate the furnace and the electrical wiring. You wire the furnace to blow. We wait until class is over and the cleaners have left. You wire the rest of the school to blow. We leave."_

_She nodded. "Good." An electronic snicker escaped her gas mask. "Kaiser can talk to this Security over the weekend. They can be best buds, for all I care. Monday morning, he goes to work, I make him and his precious school into a fucking crater."_

"_Winslow has many ABB recruits," Oni Lee commented. He felt no particular concern for them, but an ABB member was an ABB member._

"_We'll pass the word over the weekend," Bakuda told him impatiently. "No-one goes to school Monday. Simple as that."_

_Oni Lee nodded. It was a simple plan. He liked simple plans. They tended to work._

"_And after __**that**__," Bakuda went on, "we go on to the big plan. The one where I blow up bits of the city until we get Lung back."_

_Oni Lee nodded again. It would be good to have Lung back. He knew where he was with Lung. Bakuda was too unpredictable, too unstable. He would follow her, but he preferred to follow Lung._

=/=

_Taylor looked up in surprise as the fire alarm went off. She had been keeping tabs on Mike, of course, but her bugs were still unable to follow human vocal patterns. Mike had told her that in time she would be able to do so, but it was still just a mixmash of noises to bug ears._

_**He was just on the phone … why did he pull the fire alarm?**_

_A quick check with her bugs told her that there was no smoke anywhere around the school; however, she trusted him to have his reasons._

_Mr Quinlan looked around nervously. "Nobody panic," he told them. __**Which is as good a way to get people to panic as any,**__ Taylor thought derisively. "When I tell you to leave the classroom -"_

_Stampeding feet and shouts of fear outside the classroom brought everyone to their feet. People started moving toward the door. Taylor was confused. __**What? What's going on?**_

_Her bugs kept moving, kept investigating. And then they found the smoke._

_**Where the hell did **__**that**__** come from?**_

=/=

I was heading for the nearest classroom when my phone rang. It was Principal Blackwell.

I answered it, my voice harsh in my throat. "Allen."

"_Mr Allen, the fire alarm has just gone off. Do you have any idea why?"_

I paused, trying to steady my breathing. "Yeah. I set it off."

"_For heaven's sake, why?"_

My lips were suddenly dry; I moistened them with my tongue. "Bomb threat."

There was a very long pause. _"Please repeat that."_

I cleared my throat. "I just received a phone call that indicated a clear and present threat to the school. Someone is likely to try to bomb the place. I need to get everyone out. Now."

"_What? Who called you?"_

"Principal Blackwell, I trust the source implicitly. Now, are you going to argue with me, or are you going to tell everyone to evacuate the school _right the fuck now?"_

She paused again. _"You're right, of course. But you're going to need to give me details."_

"Not a problem. _Once we evacuate."_

She didn't answer; the phone clicked down in my ear.

I kept moving.

=/=

_They drove to the school in a nondescript sedan furnished by one of their underlings. Bakuda had a full kit of her tools and equipment; with this, she was wont to boast, she could turn anything from a swimming pool to a skyscraper into one big bomb. A bog-standard high school? Puh-lease._

_Parking inconspicuously, they made their way around to one of the fire exit doors of the school. Bakuda indicated the door. "Okay -"_

_And then the fire alarm went off._

_Bakuda paused. "Okay, what the fuck?"_

_Oni Lee frowned. He wasn't wearing his mask right at that moment; Bakuda hadn't wanted to draw attention. "Perhaps there is a real fire?"_

_The young woman laughed harshly. "Don't be fucking ridiculous. That would be far too much of a coincidence." She gestured. "Step back, out of the way. When the rugrats come out, we go in."_

"_Are we still sticking to the same plan?"_

_She shook her head, with a razor-edged grin. "Oh, no. I have a better plan." In a few brief words, she outlined it. "Can you handle that?"_

_He nodded. "I can handle that."_

=/=

"_**This is the principal. All students and faculty please evacuate the building in a calm and orderly fashion. Assemble in the parking lot. I repeat, all students and faculty will evacuate the building in a calm and orderly fashion and assemble in the parking lot.**__"_

I had participated in more than a few fire drills before this point. It was very easy to tell at a glance which institutions practised regular fire drills, and which ones did it rarely or never. Winslow fell, unsurprisingly, into the 'rarely or never' category. Students poured out of classrooms, jostling and yelling and jamming the corridors from wall to wall. Teachers vainly tried to keep order, or just gave up and joined the crush.

A billow of smoke along the ceiling didn't help matters in the slightest; they pushed all the harder.

I fetched out my screamer, pointed it at the ceiling, and let off a blast. The ear-shattering noise drew attention from all around.

"Stop pushing!" I bellowed. "You will get out safely! Let the people in front get out first!"

Maybe it was my imagination, but things became just a little less hectic, people pushing just a little less frantically. The front doors were a natural chokepoint, being narrower than the corridors. So people were being slowed down as they left. However, the human tide was moving; slowly, but it was moving.

I moved back the other way; spotting a fire extinguisher closet, I pulled it open, grabbed the extinguisher, and went in search of the source of the smoke. _Maybe someone left a Bunsen burner on, and it's set fire to something._

What I found was something else altogether; a small round object, pouring out smoke in a vast, thick cloud.

A smoke bomb.

_Bakuda's already here._

_Fuck._

=/=

_The crush of people outside the classroom lessened, and Taylor followed her classmates out. Mr Quinlan had sufficient presence of mind to count them out, and followed the last one._

"_I smell smoke," blurted Charlotte, one of the girls in her class._

"_Yeah, so do I," agreed Taylor. And indeed, it was impossible to deny. "But check it out. Doors are just up there, and there's no fire between us and them. So what will look cooler, us bolting out like scared kids, or just walking out like we own the place?"_

_People around her chuckled, and the pace slowed to a steady walk. By the time they reached the doors, they were striding confidently along._

=/=

"_Sir," ventured Emma, "maybe we should be evacuating with everyone else?"_

_Mr Gladly waved her down, looking out at the surging herd of students. "They're panicking out there. We'll wait a few minutes more."_

_Madison spoke up. "Mr Gladly, I think I smell smoke. Maybe we should really be going."_

"_Okay, fine," he conceded. "Come up to the front – who's __**that?**__"_

_'That' was a tall man in a demon mask and a black cloak who had suddenly appeared outside the classroom door; he seemed to be peering into the classroom. And then he was gone, in a shower of ash._

_Madison screamed; Gladly whirled, to see the man in black in the classroom, standing next to the petite brunette. He held her by the arm with one hand; the other held a long-bladed knife._

_Gladly was never sure, even within himself, what his next move was to have been. Perhaps he intended to pick up a chair and attack the intruder; perhaps he meant to bolt from the room. But the knife left the tall man's hand in a flash of silver, and he staggered back, the blade plunged through his shoulder. Blood welled out to stain his shirt._

"_What … what do you want?" he husked, falling to his knees._

_The tall man stepped closer, dragging Madison willy-nilly by the arm._

"_Hostage," he growled through the demon mask. Gripping the long knife, he pulled it free from the wound. Gladly screamed and fainted, his blood pooling on the floor beneath him. The demon-masked man raised his knife to finish his victim …_

"_No!"_

_Slowly, the demonic visage turned to regard the pretty redhead._

_The voice from behind it was slow and gravelly. "What?"_

"_Don't kill him," Emma pleaded. "I'll go with you. I won't run. Just let them go, and don't kill him."_

_The knife hesitated; again it raised, but then lowered once more._

_The man in the demon mask released Madison's arm, and took Emma by hers. He pushed his way out into the corridor, now clear of students, and began dragging her deeper into the school._

=/=

I let go a blast of foam over the smoke bomb; to my surprise, it actually seemed to work. The smoke started dissipating in a few moments, though it was still thick enough to make me cough. And then I saw the next billow, making its way down the corridor. I coughed again.

_What am I doing?_ I asked myself. _I'm not a firefighter. And Bakuda is loose in the school._

That was when I heard the scream.

_Fuck it,_ I thought. I dropped the extinguisher and ran … or at least, moved as fast as I was able.

=/=

_Taylor saw it play out; the masked man, the thrown knife. Mr Gladly badly wounded or dead. Emma dragged back into the corridor, off into the clouds of smoke that hampered her bugs so badly._

_She also had bugs on Mike, of course. She saw him react to Madison's scream, saw him hurrying in that direction._

_**Do I send him after Emma, or do I send him to Mr Gladly?**_

_It was a very real dilemma._

_But the pool of blood was growing alarmingly quickly._

_In that moment, Taylor learned that sometimes there is no single right answer to a problem, even one involving life and death._

_She made her decision._

=/=

I hesitated, unsure of which way to go. Clouds of smoke were building again; I realised that Bakuda must have liberally seeded the school with them.

And then a fly landed on my face, beside my left eye. I waved it away; it landed in exactly the same spot.

I turned my head to the left. The fly walked across to my nose. I turned my head to the right; it walked back. Turning once more until the fly was on my nose, I hurried onward.

The classroom door was open; inside, Madison and Julia were bending over a badly bleeding Mr Gladly. Madison, at least, had some idea of first aid training; she was trying to put pressure on the wound. She looked up as I entered.

"There's so much _blood!"_ she whimpered.

"Good girl," I encouraged her. "Keep doing that. Julia, bottom drawer of the teacher's desk. There should be a first aid kit." Dropping to my knees beside Gladly, I reached under him. Another wound there was also adding blood to the growing pool. Ignoring the warm, sticky sensation, I pressed my hand over it.

For once, Julia did not argue; moments later, she was back with the kit, held open in her hands.

"Excellent," I told her. "Gauze pad. Get two. And a roll of bandage."

Moments later, she had the items in hand. Under my direction, she helped Madison place one firmly over the wound in the front of Gladly's shoulder. It was over his shirt, not under, but this was better than nothing.

"Okay," I told them. "Gonna lift him. Julia, hold the top one on. Madison, put the other pad on the bottom wound. Here, see? Then wind the bandage around so it holds both pads on tight. Tight as you can. Lifting … now."

It was a haphazard affair, one that daubed all three of us liberally with Mr Gladly's blood, but we managed to get the pads in place. I checked his pulse; it was light and thready, but still there.

The trouble was, I didn't know if I could carry him all the way out of the school; I'm not weak, but he wasn't the lightest specimen out there, either. Then my eye fell on the teacher's chair.

=/=

_Taylor was standing nearby when Mr Quinlan approached Principal Blackwell._

"_We've finished taking roll, ma'am," he told her diffidently._

"_Please tell me everyone's out," she replied grimly. The first fire truck, sirens wailing, pulled into the parking lot._

"_Not … quite," he admitted with a grimace. "We're missing Emma Barnes, Madison Clements, Julia Morrow, Mr Gladly … and Michael Allen."_

_She nodded curtly. "Why is it always them?" she asked rhetorically._

"_Ma'am?"_

"_Never mind." She started toward the fire truck. "Keep me advised."_

"_Yes, ma'am." He paused. "Uh, ma'am?"_

_She looked back toward him, then at the main doors of the school. Emerging from the interior were several blood-spattered figures._

_Mr Gladly was lying with his back on a rolling swivel chair; Michael Allen was supporting his legs, while Madison Clements kept his head from lolling backward. Julia Morrow was ensuring that his arms remained crossed over his chest, with help from Madison, while pushing the chair forward at the same time._

=/=

Principal Blackwell was the first to me by a short head. Close behind her were the first responders; a group of firefighters with a stretcher.

"What's going on here?" she demanded. "Why is he wounded?"

"There's two supervillains in the school," I told her bluntly. "Bakuda and Oni Lee."

"How do you know?" she asked. "Did you see them?"

"No, but I saw a smoke bomb, and saw smoke from several more," I began.

"It may just be a prank then -" she cut me off.

"I saw him."

We both turned to look at Madison. She looked back at us, with the eyes of someone who has grown several years in a matter of minutes.

"We both saw him," she corrected herself. "Julia and me. The guy with the demon face mask and the knives."

"Oni Lee," I confirmed. "What happened? Where's Emma?"

She hung her head. "He took her. Said she was a hostage." Raising her head, she looked me in the eye. "She told him that if he didn't kill Mr Gladly, she wouldn't try to run away."

There was silence then, broken by more sirens. An ambulance for Gladly, and the first police vehicle.

"Well, I'll be buggered," I muttered. _Emma actually thought about someone else for once._

"What? What was that?" asked Blackwell.

"Nothing," I replied absently. "But I have a nasty feeling I know why he took her."

"He said 'hostage'," Madison reiterated. "Hostage for what?"

But I was moving forward, stopping a group of firefighters heading for the main doors. "Guys," I told them. "Don't go in there."

A police officer took me by the arm. Uniforms were starting to get fairly thick on the ground. "Sir," he advised me, "let them do their jobs."

"It's not their job," I stated flatly. "It's really not."

"Why not, sir?" he asked. "And why are you covered in blood?"

"Because there are supervillains in the school," I replied, answering both questions at once. "Bakuda and Oni Lee."

He let go my arm at once. "Oh shit," he exclaimed, then raised his voice. "Don't go in! Fall back! Fall back!"

As the firefighters heard him and obeyed, he turned to me. "You're certain of this." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "Couple girls over there saw him face to face, so to speak. Bastard stabbed a teacher, took a girl hostage."

"Hostage?" he asked blankly. "Why the hell would they take just one hostage?"

And then the doors opened again.

=/=

_Emma stumbled forward, sobbing, in the grasp of the masked man. She realised where she had seen him before; his name was Oni Lee, and he was a member of the ABB. Above all else, she wanted to wrench herself free, to run, to hide. But she had promised. And even if she managed to get away, he would just go back and kill Mr Gladly, and take Madison or Julia hostage instead. _

_He was a teleporter, she recalled. So even if she ran, he would probably catch up with her with ease. But what he wanted her for … she quailed. She had been helpless in the hands of the ABB once before, and that had almost turned out horribly for her. __**What's going to happen to me this time?**__ Because this time, she knew, there would be no Sophia to effect a last-minute rescue._

_A shove, and she sprawled at the feet of a woman. Looking up, she gulped. The woman wore a gas mask and opaque goggles. Now that she recognised Oni Lee, she was able to put a name to the woman as well. Bakuda. The bomb Tinker who had held Cornell University hostage._

_Before she met Sophia, Emma would have been hard put to tell one out-of-town cape from another, but being best friends with a cape gave her a certain interest in the matter, and so she knew the name._

"_Hello, hostage," Bakuda greeted her, while putting the finishing touches on a device of some sort, using a miniature soldering iron. "Tell me, do you know Security?"_

_Emma blinked. "I … who?"_

_Bakuda's tone, though generated electronically, seemed to turn impatient. "Security. You might know him as Michael Allen. Fat security guard? Beard? Sticks his nose into other peoples' business?"_

"_Oh," exclaimed Emma. "Yes. I know him."_

"_Good." The woman held up the device, as if to check on something, then looked down at her. "Stand up."_

_Emma made to stand, but her knees were currently made of water, and she couldn't make it. But then, she was grasped from behind, and lifted to her feet. Before she could protest, Bakuda closed the device around her neck, and she heard it locking into place. There was a click and an ominous humming sound._

_When she spoke, her voice was an octave or so higher than normal. "What … what's that?"_

"_I'm a bomb Tinker," Bakuda told her. "You get one guess."_

_Emma wanted to throw up. But a small, rational part of her explained carefully that throwing up on the unhinged mad bomber would not end well, and so she did not. "But why?" she whimpered._

"_You are going to walk out of the school," Bakuda told her, almost kindly. "There is a camera and a microphone. You are going to go to your friend Mr Allen and I am going to have a conversation with him. If you do anything other than that, I will blow your skull right through the fucking ceiling. Is any of this hard to understand?"_

_It was not at all hard to understand. Which was why Emma soon found herself stumbling out through the school doors, with the metal collar around her neck._

=/=

We paused at the bottom of the steps; Emma had stopped at the top. The metal collar, we could see, had several ominous bulges, as well as a couple of blinking red LEDs. It may as well have had the word BOMB stencilled across it in large red letters.

Principal Blackwell was the first to call out. "Emma? Are you all right?"

She nodded tremulously, although we could all see the tracks of tears in the grime on her face. "I'm supposed to go to Mr Allen," she replied.

"Me?" I asked, although I wasn't really surprised. I had an idea how this script was going to play out, and so I was going through the motions. I stepped forward, climbed the stairs.

Emma nodded. "She wants to talk to you," she explained.

I nodded. "Bakuda?" I asked.

The electronic voice emanated from a tiny speaker on the collar. I could also see a minuscule camera swivelling to follow my face. _"The very same. Security, I presume." _

"The girl's done nothing to you," I snapped. "Let her go."

"_Oh, I will,"_ she promised. _"Just as soon as I get what I want."_

This script was playing out to the last line. "Me."

"_Correct. You will come to me, unarmed, alone. When I have you in my grasp, I will disarm the bomb from about the girl's neck. You have my word."_

I grimaced. "And how do I know you'll keep it?"

"_Because she didn't stick her nose in my business. You did. She is merely a means to an end. You … are an end."_ She paused. _"You have five minutes to decide."_

It wasn't even really a choice.

"Okay, fine. You have a deal."

Turning, I descended the steps again. Carefully, I took my equipment belt off. Taylor was standing there, her eyes wide and solemn behind her glasses. "Here you go, kid," I told her. "Take good care of it. I'll be back for it."

As I did so, her eyes widened slightly, and I nodded fractionally.

Leaving it in her hands, I turned once more, and mounted the steps.

On my way past Emma, I squeezed her shoulder once. "It's all good," I assured her. "This isn't your fight."

She caught my arm. "But why is it yours?" she asked, her voice breaking. "What does she want from you?"

Slowly, I shook my head. "Sorry, kid. Wish I could tell you."

Pushing the doors open, I entered the school.

Bakuda awaited.

* * *

End of Chapter Twenty-Seven


	28. Chapter 28

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Countdown

* * *

_[Author's Note: Thanks to Kerfitd for the speech. You know which one.]_

* * *

"_I would ask you what the hell you __**thought**__ you were doing, but it's patently obvious to one and all that you were not thinking at all!"_

_Director Piggot paused. She was a past master at the ancient and honourable art of reaming out errant subordinates until they were standing in a puddle of their own sweat; however, a blinking light on her desk console had caught her eye and distracted her from her tirade._

_The blinking light should not be there. She glared at it. It did not go away._

_In front of her desk, Captain Mitchell maintained the attitude of attention, eyes fixed on a point eighteen inches over the top of Piggot's head. He did not move; he barely dared to draw breath, lest this bring her ire down on his head once more._

_The light, Director Piggot knew, indicated an urgent call – something that someone had decided that she needed to know about. She continued to glare at it. Captain Mitchell stared at the wall as the sweat dried on his forehead._

_Piggot snatched up her phone. "What?" she snarled. "I left strict instructions! No interruptions!"_

_"__**Madam Director."**__ The voice was that of Armsmaster; calm, unhurried, but somehow betraying a certain level of excitement. "__**I apologise for bothering you, but we have just gotten a call from Principal Blackwell, of -"**_

_"- Winslow High School, yes, I know it," the Director interrupted him. "What about it? Shadow Stalker is well out of that school. Our interest in it is near nil."_

_"__**This is not about Shadow Stalker,"**__ Armsmaster informed her. "__**It's about Bakuda and Oni Lee. They're at the school. Right now."**_

_"A more immediate concern," she conceded, "but I don't see why you're telling me about it."_

_"__**They've taken a girl hostage. Security's gone in to negotiate."**_

_Director Piggot went very still. "You're talking about ..."_

_"__**Yes, I'm talking about Mr Allen. They gave him an ultimatum, and he went in alone and unarmed,"**__ Armsmaster reported._

_Piggot swore under her breath. "Who's attending?"_

_"__**I'm en route, ETA about two minutes. I'm told that there's a PRT truck scrambling, and a chopper as well."**_

_"Very well. Thank you." The Director hung up, then turned to Mitchell. "Captain Mitchell."_

_If Mitchell had been any more parade-ground straight, Piggot would have been able to use his spine as a ruler. "Ma'am?"_

"_Return to your regular duties. You will speak of this to no-one … but you and I have not finished this conversation. Do you understand?"_

_Mitchell's nod was jerky, but it was a nod. "Yes, ma'am."_

"_Good. Dismissed."_

_Mitchell saluted; Piggot returned it, with a parade-ground snap. As quickly as he dared, Mitchell left the office. Piggot pressed a button on her console._

"_Major. I understand you are sending a chopper to Winslow."_

_"__**Yes, ma'am."**__ He didn't even ask how she knew._

_"Save a seat for me." She got up from behind her desk._

_**God knows I need to get out more.**_

=/=/=

I didn't want to go back into the school. I most especially did not want to put myself at Bakuda's less-than-tender mercy. Unfortunately, I didn't have much of a choice; the bomb around Emma's neck more or less guaranteed that I would do as Bakuda said.

It wasn't as if I even liked Emma that much; she was, after all, at least partially responsible for Taylor's eighteen months of hell, not least of which being the ordeal she had suffered in the locker. But, as much as she deserved _some_ form of punishment, Emma didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to have her head blown off to satisfy Bakuda's whims, especially not when she'd just started to show signs of being an actual decent human being again.

Gladly, whatever his many flaws, did not deserve death; Emma had saved him from that. I would try to return her the favour, as best I could.

And so I walked into the school.

* * *

In a very real way, I mused, I had brought this upon the school, and upon Emma, when I had set out to assist Taylor in capturing Lung. I wasn't solely to blame for the train of events that had been thus set in motion, but I had been the initiating force. Even worse, as the only one with foreknowledge of the lengths to which Bakuda was likely to go in retaliating and attempting to break Lung out, I should have considered this possibility.

When I had first used the name 'Security', it had been more a joke than anything; a name given as a signature to an email, to lend the contents a little more authenticity, so that Director Piggot would not simply ignore the predictions and delete the mail. What I had not foreseen was how widely that name would become known, and by whom. The joke, at first, had seemed to be a fine one; there I was, not a power to my name, being treated with respect by the movers and shakers of Brockton Bay.

I wasn't laughing now. The joke had turned sour.

Just before I had turned away to enter the doors of Winslow, my eyes had met those of Gladys Knott. Her eyes had been wide with fear; not for herself, but for me. And I didn't blame her, not one bit. I have no idea what she saw in my gaze, but it didn't seem to reassure her. Nor should it have; Taylor may have defeated Bakuda in canon, once upon a time, but the fight was not easy, and nor did she come away unscathed.

=/=/=

_Emma sat on the stairs and hugged her knees. She was crying again, but she couldn't stop the tears. The heavy metal collar about her neck felt like it was made of lead, weighing her down so that she would never stand up again. The regular blinking of the red LEDs kept catching the corner of her vision, reminding her of their presence._

_She didn't know if she was going to live another day, another hour, another minute. The realisation that her life could be snuffed out at any second made her thoughts startling in their clarity. She was really __**seeing**__ the world as it was._

_This wasn't like the time with the ABB, back when she had first met Sophia. God, she had been so young and stupid then! This was different, more visceral. Then, she had been forced to choose between several unpalatable options. Now, she had no choices to make. She could only wait, to see if a man who had no reason to like her would be successful in saving her life._

_**I'm sorry,**__ she said in the silent depths of her own mind. __**I'm sorry for every bad thing I ever did.**_

_It wasn't praying, exactly. She was simply saying goodbye._

_Just in case._

=/=/=

As I walked down the echoing corridors, I did my best to stride confidently; my head was high and I tried to project the impression that I was exactly where I wanted to be. I didn't know if I was going to be fooling anyone; I certainly wasn't fooling myself. And even if I did, I wasn't sure that I would be doing myself any favours; I doubted Bakuda would be overly impressed by false bravado, not after serving under Lung. But then, nor was I going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me scared.

Abruptly, Oni Lee was before me, a knife gleaming in his hand. I stopped; while I wore my stab vest, there were many places he could cut me that were not covered by its protection. Also, he looked damned impressive; the smoke from Bakuda's bombs was still wafting about as Winslow's overworked ventilation system tried to filter it out, and it billowed and swirled around him as if he were a part of it. The dark cloak and the _kami_ demon mask only heightened the impression.

"Search for weapons," he grunted.

I raised my arms obediently, showing that my hands were empty, and let him pat me down. He was efficient and professional about it, but he didn't find anything that he wasn't supposed to.

Which was, of course, the general idea.

* * *

After he finished the frisk, he had me open my shirt, and he examined the stab vest, front and back, to ensure that it held no secret weapon. It didn't, of course; that would have been the first place I would have looked, had our positions been reversed.

He allowed me to retain the vest itself, a gesture that somehow managed to quite clearly convey his contempt for its protective qualities. Then he pointed down a side corridor. "That way."

I walked that way; I had only gone a few yards when he appeared in the billowing smoke ahead of me. Interest overcame fear, and I turned my head as I walked, to watch his previous body as it suddenly collapsed, robes and mask and all, into a pile of fine ash. In any other situation, it would have been fascinating; as it was, I recalled certain factors about Oni Lee.

"You know," I observed as I came up to him, "that's actually killing you."

The knife reappeared in his hand without warning, its razor tip fractions of an inch from my eyeball. I tried not to blink. Or breathe. Or move.

"What is killing me?" he asked in his toneless voice.

"Knife? Please?" I requested, and a moment later he moved the blade away from my face.

"What is killing me?" he repeated.

"Your power," I told him, in as casual a manner as I could muster, with adrenaline still blasting through my bloodstream. "Which way now?"

He pointed, and I set off that way. He moved up alongside me. "How is my power killing me?" he demanded. "I teleport. It is simple."

I shook my head. "It's not teleporting. It looks like it, but it isn't. Your power creates a new version of you where you want to go, and destroys your old body and everything it held."

He growled stubbornly. "It _is_ teleporting."

"No," I corrected him. "It isn't. Every time you do it, it makes a new copy of you, and kills the old copy stone dead. And every time you do it, a little bit more of who you are, up _here,"_ I tapped the side of my head, "is lost. Killed. Forever destroyed."

He pointed the knife at me. "You try to trick me, turn me against Bakuda." The threat was obvious.

I held up my hands in surrender. "Nope. You make your own decisions. Just ask yourself this; didn't you once _give_ orders, rather than taking them?"

I kept walking, and he gave directions. But he didn't teleport again.

=/=/=

_Bakuda looked up as Oni Lee escorted Security into the school infirmary._

_She had to say that on one level, she was not at all impressed. On another, she was very impressed indeed._

_Security – Michael Allen – was taller than her, perhaps a little taller than Oni Lee, but quite a bit heavier than either of them. He was overweight, greying and obviously unfit. But on the other hand … she paused to ponder._

_She had taken the exploits assigned to him with a large grain of salt, at the time of the meeting, but the truth of the matter was that __**someone**__ had been very busy over the past week. If this man, as soft and weak as he seemed, was able to do all that, then maybe there was more to him than appearances suggested._

_Not that this was her problem. She just wanted him dead. And Kaiser wanted him alive enough to talk to. Which posed a certain problem; while she had him in hand right now, she doubted that such an opportunity would arise again very quickly._

_Fortunately, she had a solution to the problem. One which would probably not make Kaiser very happy, and it was certain to make Allen very unhappy indeed, but it would still allow her to kill Allen while giving Kaiser his precious chat. So fuck 'em both._

_She finished her work on the micro-bomb and straightened up._

"_About time you got here," she greeted them. "Lee, strap him down."_

"_Wait one second," Security objected. "Let the girl go. Disarm the bomb."_

_Bakuda shook her head. "I don't have to do anything you tell me. Lee, strap him down."_

_Security slapped aside Lee's hands. "Do it, or you'll have to kill me. And then you get to face -" He paused for a second. "Kaiser," he concluded._

_Bakuda frowned. He'd been about to say something else, but changed his mind, she was sure of it. But it made her wonder. And it didn't cost her anything, really, to release the hostage._

"_Call them up," she told him. "Ask them."_

"_I left my phone behind," he reminded her._

_She sighed and handed him a burner phone. He dialled in a number, apparently from memory._

=/=/=

"_Hello?"_

"Principal Blackwell? This is Michael Allen. Has anything happened with the bomb?"

"_Yes – yes, it has. It stopped beeping and fell off her neck."_

"So she's okay?"

"_She's all right, yes."_

"Good," I replied, and ended the call. I put my free hand behind my back, palm up.

"We're not here to kill you -" began Bakuda.

"Best news I've heard all day," I interrupted, tossing the phone in the air so that she had to catch it. At the same time, the pepper spray dropped into my hand.

I brought my hand out from behind my back and gave Oni Lee the benefit of a good solid spray from a range of three feet. His mask protected his mouth and nostrils, but I hit the eyeholes fair and square. He cried out, bringing his hands up to protect his eyes. I shoved him away and headed for the door.

Bakuda got in the way. Regretfully, she was protected by her goggles and gas mask, so I hit her in the face with an elbow smash instead. It hurt my elbow, but I believe it hurt her face more. Something broke; it may have been her nose. In any case, she fell backward away from me, and I scrambled for the door. As I did so, I heard dozens, hundreds, of bugs pouring out of the air vents and descending on the supervillains. Taylor was on the ball.

* * *

I'm not a good runner. I'm not really a runner at all. But I did my best; I was a good ten yards down the hallway before Oni Lee appeared in front of me. He had a knife in his hand, and somehow, despite having totally hidden features, managed to put forth the impression of being _pissed._

Most people would have slowed down, tried to swerve, or even stopped. I didn't do any of that.

He realised at the last moment what I was intending, and brought up his knife toward my face. I hit him with my forearms first, knocking the knife up and out of the way, and then we collided with a bone-crunching impact.

Say what you will about being unfit and overweight; weighing in excess of two hundred and fifty pounds allows for a certain amount of momentum. I ploughed into him, his feet went out from under him, and he hit the floor, flat on his back. But he still managed to grab me with his free hand.

I wrested free, but then he crumbled to ash, and I had been halted for just a moment. And in that moment, his arm curled around my neck from behind.

I grabbed his arm, crouched slightly, and shoved my butt back toward him while pulling his arm further over my shoulder. He realised what I was doing, but too late; straightening my legs while bending, I lifted his feet clean off the floor. When I twisted and pulled, he went straight over my hip and on to the floor again.

He was already on his feet again as the body I had just thrown crumbled to ash. It seemed to be a stand-off; I couldn't put him down hard enough, and he wasn't allowed to kill me.

And then something small and round _popped_ at my feet.

* * *

The world went woozy, and I folded. From my position on the floor, I looked up in confusion as bugs swarmed and darted at the two very tall people next to me. And then another little thing popped on the floor, and all the bugs went away.

Everything was really far away, and then really close, and then really far away again. I felt them dragging me back down the corridor, and in through the doorway. Then they tried to lift me on to the table.

"Fuck it," she cursed. I wanted to tell her that swearing was impolite. "I'll do it on the floor."

I didn't know what 'it' was, but I didn't like the sound of it. But struggling was something that other people did, people with working limbs.

She straddled me, and snarled down at me; I had popped one lens from her goggles, so she had a curious half-blind look about her. "If I used anaesthetic, you fat fuck," she told me vindictively, "I wouldn't in your case. That fucking _hurt."_

I wanted to tell her that I was glad that it had hurt. But all I managed was "blert".

And then she pushed my head to one side; I caught a glimpse of a scalpel blade before it disappeared from my line of sight.

She began cutting. I felt _that_, all right.

I screamed and passed out.

=/=/=

_Taylor wanted to throw up. She and Mike had not even really made the plan up; he had shown her the pepper spray he had palmed as he had handed her the belt. They both recalled how she had used bugs to carry one of those canisters when they fought Lung. Nothing could be said in front of Bakuda's camera, but they both knew the score. His whole aim was to get Emma free of the bomb, then get away._

_Initially, the plan had worked. He had carried the pepper spray until Oni Lee intercepted him, then he had let it go, to be carried by the bugs that were shadowing him. These bugs had rested on the back of Oni Lee's robes, making it certain that the teleporter would not find them._

_He had spoken with Bakuda, and she had – surprisingly enough – freed Emma. And then everything had gone wrong. For a moment, it seemed that he was getting away, but something had happened, and he had fallen over. She had attacked with all the bugs she had, while dragging the pepper spray away with others, but then Bakuda had done something else, and all the attacking bugs had died._

_Mike was going to die, and it was all her fault. She hadn't backed him up enough. She hadn't done enough._

_A rumble of a motorcycle heralded the arrival of Armsmaster; almost at the same time, a helicopter swooped in from overhead, setting down on the sports field next to the parking lot. From the chopper climbed a dozen PRT troopers, plus a heavy-set figure in blue._

_**Oh good, the Director's here. Now all I have to do is get her attention and convince her to rescue Mike before Bakuda finishes whatever it is she's doing to him.**_

=/=/=

_Director Piggot looked at the assembled staff and students with some disfavour. Bystanders, potential casualties. She didn't need them._

_Armsmaster was directing the PRT troops to set up a perimeter, and to cover all the exits. He was thorough, methodical. She left him to it and made her way over to Principal Blackwell._

_They knew each other by sight; Emily didn't think much of the woman, but then, she had a school full of potential criminals to run. And Shadow Stalker. There had been a major screwup there, and it was at least partially the fault of the school._

"_Blackwell," she greeted the woman._

"_Director Piggot," she was greeted in return._

"_Who saw what happened?"_

_Blackwell pointed toward where Emma, Madison and Julia were being checked over by paramedics. She explained what had happened in terse, unhappy words; the fire alarm, the attack on Mr Gladly, the bomb on Emma's neck. The demand for Michael Allen._

_Piggot stared at her. "And you just let him go in?"_

_Blackwell shrugged helplessly. "She said he had five minutes to decide. I believed her. __**He**__ believed her."_

"_And the bomb's been disarmed?"_

_Blackwell nodded; she pointed at where the device lay, people avoiding it like the plague. "We haven't heard from him since."_

"_Where Bakuda's concerned," the Director told her grimly, "that's rarely a good thing."_

_She looked around. "I'm going to need to speak to those girls, any teachers who saw what happened … who's the girl holding the belt over there?"_

_Blackwell looked. "That's Taylor Hebert. He gave her his equipment belt to hold."_

"_They know each other well, then?"_

_A shrug from Blackwell. "According to them, he's a good friend of the family."_

"_I'll want to talk to her then, see if I can get a read on how he would act."_

_Blackwell nodded. "I'll pass the word."_

_Piggot gestured to the large crowd around them. "As for the rest of them – send them home. This school is closed until further notice."_

_Blackwell looked as though she was going to argue, then closed her mouth. She moved off, presumably to do what Piggot had told her._

_The Director gathered in her explosives expert and the hostage negotiator by eye, and indicated the bomb collar. "She was using it to communicate, before," she told them. "See if you can get through to her. And try not to get blown up."_

_They both saluted, and moved off. She headed back to the truck, where a mobile command post was being set up._

=/=/=

The side of my neck hurt. A lot. But the effect of the stun-bomb had worn off, more or less. I lay on the floor, in an awkward position, as it sank into my consciousness that I was indeed conscious.

Bakuda was talking, and not to me. Nor to Oni Lee.

" - he's alive, sure. But if you attack, he sure as hell won't be. And I've seeded the school with bombs. Sneak in, and boom! Kiss your ass goodbye."

There was a pause, then she kept talking.

"You know, makes me wonder what's so damn important about one fat old security guard. Security. Hah. As if."

I groaned and tried to get up, with middling success.

=/=/=

"_We didn't have any time to plan, that was the trouble. Emma was standing right there, and the camera was watching us. So he showed me the pepper spray. I used bugs to carry one, once before, when we took down Lung, so I had an idea what he wanted me to do."_

_Piggot nodded. "So is he alive, do you know?"_

_Taylor shrugged. "I have no idea. The bug bomb she used is slowly wearing off the area, but I still can't get many bugs in to attack Bakuda."_

_At that moment, Taylor's head came up._

_Director Piggot looked at her. "Something?"_

"_Yeah. He's awake. Moving."_

"_Where's Oni Lee?"_

"_In one of the bathrooms, still bathing his eyes. Mike must have got him a good one."_

"_How many bugs can you muster to attack Oni Lee?"_

_Taylor showed her teeth in what might have been a grin. "__**All**__ of them."_

=/=/=

Bakuda looked around. "Whoops. He's awake. Bye now, talk to you later."

It dawned on me that she must have been talking to those outside via the microphone link in Emma's bomb collar. _The Protectorate and the PRT must be on site._

I gingerly touched the side of my neck. There was a seam of some sort, very tender to the touch.

"Ah, ah, ahh," she chided me. "No picking at it."

"What," I husked, then cleared my throat. "What did you do to me?" I reconsidered the question; I knew very well what she'd done. "What kind of bomb did you put in my head?"

She tilted her head. "Huh. Quick on the uptake for someone who's just been operated on."

My voice was grim. "I know how you work. What you do. What kind of bomb am I carrying? What'll it do to me?"

This time, I made it to my feet.

"Oh," she confided, "it'll just blow you the fuck up. But that's not the cool part."

"Remote detonated?" I guessed.

Electronic laughter came out of the gas mask. "Well, that too, but that's not the cool bit. Try again."

I shook my head; it hurt. "No idea."

Even with the electronic filtering, her voice was triumphant. "Proximity detonated. Plus a timer."

"I don't get it."

"Of course you don't fucking get it. I'm the genius bomb tinker, and you're a fucking know-nothing security guard." She pointed at my neck. "What's in there will blow in thirty-six hours' time, come hell or high water. But every time someone gets within two yards of you in that time -" She suddenly stepped closer to me, and I felt a jarring _BZZZT_ in my skull. She stepped away again. "- the counter drops by one hour. So yeah, thirty-five hours."

I stared at her. "So, you've set it up so you can kill me at any time, and I'll certainly die in one and a half days. Because what, I helped capture Lung?"

She nodded. "That's part of it. And you fucked with the ABB. And _nobody_ fucks with the ABB."

I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes for a moment. "You have no idea what you've done, do you?"

"What the fuck do you mean? I know exactly what I've done."

I shook my head. "You really don't." Opening my eyes, I looked around. "Where's tall, dark and demonic?"

She managed an electronic sneer. "Off someplace, trying to stop his eyes from burning. He's kinda pissed with you too."

"My heart bleeds." I looked at her. "So if I get close to you, I lose hours."

"Got it in one. I love a fast learner." She pointed at the door. "So go on. Leave. I'm done here."

"Yes," I told her grimly. "You certainly are."

Coming off the wall, I crash-tackled her across the bed and on to the floor.

_BZZZT_

=/=/=

_Taylor saw Mike attacking Bakuda, and reacted. Her forces were ready for action._

_They struck._

_She couldn't get many in to attack Bakuda, but Oni Lee was another matter._

=/=/=

_Oni Lee peered into the bathroom mirror. His eyes were swollen, and he could only just barely see if he squinted painfully. Running cold water over them was only offering the mildest of relief._

_Bending over the basin, he tried once more._

_The bugs swarmed out of every crack, every crevice, every space where things did not fit together perfectly. They converged on him, biting and stinging. His robes were no protection; they found the openings with embarrassing ease._

_Many of them went for his eyes._

_He teleported away. The bugs went with him. He teleported again, and again, and again. The bugs continued to attack._

_By the time he finally managed to get rid of them, he was far away from Winslow High School._

=/=/=

"What the fuck?" she yelped. "Get off me, you crazy fuck!"

She struggled; I held her down and slammed her head against the floor. _Thud._

_BZZZT_

Writhing like a cat, she squirmed free and scrambled to her feet; I snagged her ankle, brought her down. Clambered on top of her.

_BZZZT_

She clawed at my face. I grabbed her wrists, pinned one hand under my knee. Twisted the other one, hard. She screamed as joints dislocated.

_BZZZT_

Grabbing the gas mask, I wrenched it off her face. She stared at me, eyes wide. The pepper spray dropped to the floor, right beside her head. _Thank you, Taylor._ I grabbed it up. Sprayed her in the face.

_BZZZT_

She screamed, choked, twisted under me. I lost the pepper spray. Grabbed her by the hair. Bashed her head against the floor again. _Thud._

_BZZZT_

And again. _Thud._

_BZZZT_

Again. _Thud._

_BZZZT_

She was limp under me; I rolled off of her, far enough away that the buzzing ceased.

I was so out of breath that it wasn't funny; if Oni Lee came back any time now, I would be _so_ dead.

But he didn't return. So I wrenched her left boot off, and prised the rings from her toes, to the cost of another buzz inside my head. Then I found an extension cord and tied a running knot. Using a broom, I eased it over Bakuda's left ankle, then pulled it tight. Then I started dragging her.

I tried to figure out why Contessa had not interfered.

_I guess that all I need to do is stay alive long enough to tell her how to save the world. Anything past that isn't her problem._

_Being expendable __**sucks.**_

=/=/=

_Piggot stared at Taylor. "You're __**kidding.**__"_

_Taylor shook her head. "Not in the slightest. Oni Lee is gone. Out of my range. And Mike's on his feet. Bakuda's down, and he's on his way out."_

_Piggot keyed her mic. "All units, move in! Move in now!"_

_Boots thudded; there was a tense few moments, then the radio crackled. "__**Director, this is Callan. We have a visual on Allen."**_

_Piggot keyed the mic again. "Status?"_

_"__**He's walking … seems disoriented or maybe injured. Dragging something. No. Someone. Female, Asian. Bakuda, maybe."**_

_The Director frowned. "Dragging?"_

_"__**Cord around her ankle. Wait, he's warning us off. Not to come too close. He might be wired to blow."**_

_"Take no chances. If he says he's wired to blow ..."_

_"__**Ah. Yeah. There's a bomb. He says it's got a proximity fuse. We're to stay more than two yards away from him."**_

_"Can you remove it? Defuse it?"_

_"__**... no. It's in his neck. I can see the scar."**_

_Piggot's head slowly fell forward until it bumped gently against the radio console. "Of course it fucking is."_

=/=/=

The PRT men had relieved me of the burden of dragging Bakuda; they had her up and restrained by the time she recovered her wits. She had trouble breathing, let alone seeing, but she was still cursing luridly as she stumbled along. I wasn't doing too well myself, but there was no-one to help me. To help me would be to kill me.

I pushed my way out through the doors and looked at the much-depleted crowd below. Emma was lying on a stretcher; Madison was sitting next to her. I couldn't see Julia anywhere, but Taylor was speaking to Director Piggot, next to a truck, some little distance away. They both turned as I started down the steps, leaning on the rail.

A paramedic approached me, but was waved off by the PRT soldiers who were flanking me, three yards away on each side. "Don't get any closer," he was told.

"Sir!" he called out. "Are you injured?"

"I just need to sit down for a bit," I called back. "And figure out how to get this bloody thing out of my neck."

"You have blood on your face."

"My face?" I touched my face, found dried scabs. "Ah. She scratched me. When we were fighting."

By the time I got to the bottom of the steps, I was winded, and I sat down to catch my breath. My hands were starting to shake as well; I knew what that meant. It was all starting to catch up with me.

* * *

I was looking down at the ground, trying not to throw up, when I heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Looking up, I saw Taylor. Her eyes were wide with distress; Director Piggot was flanking her.

"Taylor, come here," I told her. "No closer than two yards, okay?" I gestured to Piggot and the PRT men to back off; they did.

Taylor nodded tightly, and came closer, still holding the equipment belt.

"I'm sorry," she told me, her voice strained. "I should have done _more."_

I shook my head. "No," I corrected her. "You couldn't have. You did really good. I couldn't have done what I did without you. Your timing was perfect." I tilted my head. "Where did Oni Lee get to, anyway?"

She shrugged. "I hit him with bugs. He left."

I offered her a grin. "Not bad, kid."

She shook her head. "But not good _enough._ You've got … _that_ … in your neck."

"It's okay," I assured her. "I have a plan to deal with it. Well, half a plan. Gonna need my phone."

She moved around me to the steps and put the equipment belt down, then backed off. I got up, fetched it, then went back to my original seat. Pulling out the phone, I turned it on, then stopped.

Looking up at Taylor, I raised a finger. "There's a lesson to be learned here. Sometimes, despite your best efforts, shit just happens. Don't beat yourself up over it. We'll get through this. Got it?"

Tremulously, she nodded. "Got it." Her jaw set. "If you die, I'll -"

I shook my head. " - do _nothing._ Until the world's saved, at least. She's important to that, okay?" I grinned. "Not as important as you, but still important."

She took a deep breath, and nodded. " … okay. Thanks."

I gave her a careful smile. "Good. Fist-bump?" I held up my fist. She mimed bumping it with her own. Then I pointed at the phone. "Gotta make a call, okay?"

She took the hint. "Okay." Stepping past Director Piggot and the PRT men, she backed off.

I dialled the number.

=/=/=

_Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown's phone rang; she picked it up. "Hello?"_

_"__**Director."**_

_She instinctively sat up straighter in the chair. "Security."_

_"__**The same. I have a question about our colleague. Is he attending the doctor?"**_

_"He assures me that he is."_

_"__**Oh, good. I would have hated to have had to kick his ass for him."**__ She could not tell if he was being serious or not. After a moment, he went on. __**"How did he go with that little chore he wanted to do? With the disease strains?"**_

_"In the main, he was successful," Costa-Brown told him. "He managed to contain the Sierra Bravo and the less mature Bravo Sierra. The rest were destroyed."_

_"__**Including the Whiskey Mike and the Juliet Sierra? This is a definite?"**_

_"Absolutely guaranteed. Confirmed destroyed."_

_There was a pause. __**"We could maybe have used the Whiskey Mike. But it was a risky plan at best Good enough. Now. Here's the kicker. I need access to the Bravo Sierra."**_

_Alexandria blinked. " … what?"_

_"__**I need access," **__he repeated. __**"Immediately. It's a matter of life and death."**_

_She frowned. "Do you have any __**idea**__ how deadly that strain is?"_

_"__**Yes. I do. That doesn't change matters. Director Piggot will be contacting you about it. Please expedite any red tape."**_

_She tried one more time. "We had not publicised that. It was being kept at a special location." A Cauldron base, she meant. She knew he would understand._

_He did. __**"So move it. Make up a reason that you hadn't told anyone. I need access, and I need it within twenty-four hours. Twelve would be better, six would be ideal."**_

_Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown took a deep breath. "It will be done. But this had better be for a __**very**__ good reason."_

_"__**Always is. Thanks. Bye."**_

_The phone went dead in her ear. She sighed and stood up from her desk._

"_Door." This was going to be an interesting conversation._

=/=/=

I hung up the phone, then nodded to Director Piggot. She came closer.

"Director," I greeted her, trying for casual politeness. _Fancy meeting you here._

"Mr Allen," she replied, her tone equally polite.

"Bit of a bugger."

She may have smiled faintly. "You seem to find yourself in these messes."

I took a deep breath; it helped a little. "I guess I can't help sticking my nose in other peoples' business."

"An unhealthy hobby, some might say."

"Yeah, well, someone's got to do it, right?"

She frowned. "I don't get your meaning."

I pulled myself to my feet. "You will. In the meantime … the Undersiders. Any comments?"

Her tone became wary. "Is this the time or place -"

"If it isn't," I snapped, "there is no time or place for this. Besides, I'm rapidly running out of times or places to do _anything_, if you hadn't noticed. So. The Undersiders. What's your side of matters?"

She took a breath, glanced around. No-one was too close to us.

"When the news broke regarding the Empire Eighty-Eight this morning, I instituted emergency protocols; all soldiers were to pull back to base unless on essential missions. Knowing what I did about Ms Lindt's dogs, I considered that to be an essential mission … but it seems that I didn't make it perfectly clear to everyone under my command."

I rubbed at my eyes. "So … some idiot decided to pull them in, not reinforce them or even send a truck to pick up the dogs."

Her lips compressed, but she nodded. "Essentially."

"And back at base, someone told the Undersiders about this, so they broke out."

"That is my supposition, yes."

"In other words, more or less forcing them to commit a crime to protect their dogs – and your men."

She nodded jerkily. "Yes."

I closed my eyes for a moment. Anger was welling up from some place deep inside me. Anger that battled the weariness, the fear, the thousand and one aches and pains that plagued me.

"Director Piggot. I'm going to say something now. Don't take it personally, but it needs to be said." I took a deep breath. "That there? What we're talking about? That's just negligence, plain and simple. I'm working to save the world here, and we haven't got the _time_ for this bullshit, this negligence. We are working with the thinnest of margins. Do you have the slightest idea how _unstable _the world is? Even if we constrain ourselves to this barely superglobal scope?"

I shook my head. "There's a battle coming. A battle unlike any other the world has ever seen. One that will determine whether humanity, as a species, lives or dies. If it comes to a direct power contest, each and every cape who steps up will mean the difference between the life and death of millions of people. Each _second _spent convincing them to fight will cost us thousands. And that's even assuming that we _win_."

I swept my arm in a curve, indicating the horizon and the world beyond. "And all these different people must be made, manipulated, coerced, bribed to fight for a common cause. We're going to be needing total cooperation. From heroes _and _from villains. So _please_, Director, could you make sure that your subordinates do not _undermine our whole fucking cause_? Thank you."

She stood, staring at me. I was suddenly, horribly, aware that in my emotional state, I had perhaps said too much. This was the first time that I had alluded to the fight that we were going to have to go through, the one against Zion.

"Mr Allen," she ventured quietly, "is this what you meant when you said you were trying to save the world?"

I nodded jerkily. "That and a lot of other things. But yes, that's the big kahuna, the one that makes or breaks this world."

Her gaze was intent. "So, knowing this, and knowing that you are pivotal to what's happening ..." She paused.

I frowned. "Yes?"

"Why did you go in there to face Bakuda? Why did you take that risk?"

I gestured to where Emma lay on the stretcher. "I couldn't let that girl die."

She stared at me. "Even if it meant your death? The end of your plans? The end of the world?"

I raised a finger. "Ah. You see, I knew for a fact that I wasn't going to die in there."

"How could you possibly know _that?"_

I grinned. "Sorry. You're not cleared to know that yet."

If looks could kill, Bakuda need not have wasted her time on me. But fortunately for me, Emily Piggot possessed nothing in the way of death-rays from her eyes. It just seemed that way.

"So," she observed at last. "You have a bomb in your neck."

I nodded. "So it seems."

"Which has a proximity fuse, which is the only thing preventing me from attempting to wring your neck right now."

I grunted a chuckle. "Some silver lining."

She ignored my comment. "Is there anything else we need to know about it?"

"Yeah. It started with a countdown of thirty-six hours. In the course of beating the shit out of her, I lost about ten hours."

She raised an eyebrow. "Was it worth it?"

I showed my teeth in a grin. "Ask me again in twenty-six hours."

A nod of acknowledgement. "Your point is well taken." She eyed me perceptively. "You seem remarkably unconcerned about the whole thing."

"Oh, I'm concerned, I'm concerned," I assured her. "But I know of at least two different people who could remove it in relative safety, so that's why I'm not panicking and running in circles. Well, that and the fact that I seem to be out of adrenaline right now, for some inexplicable reason."

"I wonder why that might be," she agreed dryly. "Which two people are you thinking of?"

"Dragon and Riley," I replied promptly.

"Dragon and who?"

"Riley," I repeated. "You know, cute little twelve year old, blonde ringlets, up until a short time ago was known as Bonesaw? _That_ Riley."

She shook her head. "She's dead. The Slaughterhouse Nine were taken down with one hundred percent casualties. It was on the news."

She was right; it _had_ been on the news. I just hadn't had time to watch it. Besides, the news held only a passing acquaintance with the facts most times, as we had just demonstrated.

"Not the case, Director," I told her. "Yes, the Nine went down. But they were _not_ wiped out. Bonesaw is a prisoner. And I need access to her. Please contact your Chief Director; she'll know where the murderous little munchkin is being kept."

She shook her head slowly. "I don't know whether to be more horrified that you know we have her in custody, when I did not, or that you are willing to let her operate on you." She paused. "Or that you know her by her first name."

"I have to admit, getting her to work on me _is_ a bit of a gamble," I agreed. "But so long as we do it before tonight, it should all be good."

"You mentioned Dragon. Why not ask her?"

I nodded. "Oh, she can assist. And supply the waldoes, for that matter. However, Bakuda's really tricky when she implants her bombs; I would put absolutely _nothing_ past her when it comes to booby traps. But Riley's the _best_ surgeon in the world, bar none. If that bomb can be extracted safely, Riley's the one who can do it."

Piggot was staring at me. "You want to ask a _serial murderer_ to be your surgeon? Do you know what she's _done,_ these past few years?"

I nodded. "Six years, and yes. I know exactly what she's done. And why. I know what she's capable of, and that's why I want her to do it."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You have to be kidding me. You seriously have to be kidding me. There is no way this is going to fly."

I shrugged. "We've got twenty-six hours to figure out a better plan." I grimaced as the resonant _BZZZT _echoed through my skull. "Correction. Twenty-five hours."

She stared at me, aghast.

I manufactured a grin. It had absolutely no humour in it. "Better move things along, Director. Time's a-ticking."

* * *

End of Chapter Twenty-Eight


	29. Chapter 29

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Deadline

* * *

Time was indeed a-ticking.

I sat on the examination table in the PRT base, with my shirt and stab vest lying nearby. At the request of the doctors, I had removed the T-shirt I habitually wore under the vest, and they had gotten me to turn around in front of the large perspex window which separated me from them, so that they could look me over for potential injuries.

Normally this enclosed area was designed to protect attending physicians from potentially dangerous pathogens or even patients; in this instance, it was to protect _me_ from _them_, to prevent them from accidentally stepping too close to me.

Once I had cleaned up the cuts and scrapes with the antiseptic which had been supplied to me, they examined me from a distance and pronounced me effectively healthy.

"Though you could stand to lose a deal of weight," one doctor had observed firmly.

I hadn't bothered responding; at that moment in time, my surplus weight was right at the back of the line as far as my personal health concerns were involved.

"So," I ventured. "Can I put my shirt back on now?"

My words were conveyed through the perspex by an open microphone link; the doctor nodded and waved assent. _"I have a question," _he replied.

Shrugging into the sleeves, I looked up. "Shoot."

"_Why is it that you do not wish a mundane surgeon to even attempt the removal of the device? We do, after all, have surgical waldos."_

"Because Bakuda is a tricky bitch," I explained. "Think of it this way; if you were a psychotic supervillain who routinely implanted bombs into peoples' heads, how would you go about making sure they didn't just get a doctor to cut them out again?"

He paused. _"Ah. Some sort of failsafe."_

"Yeah," I agreed. "She's a Tinker. I'd feel a lot happier with a Tinker or two dealing with it."

"_You have a point,"_ he acknowledged. _"But in any case, while you're awaiting your preferred surgeon, perhaps we should see if we can get an idea of exactly what it is we're dealing with, and where it is inside your neck."_

I nodded. "Makes a certain amount of sense. Let's do this thing."

"_We'll escort you to the CT room,"_ he told me.

As I slid off the table, I wondered idly how Amy was doing with her first day of therapy.

=/=

_The woman looked up as Amy entered the room. She rose from behind the desk and stepped around it to offer her hand._

"_Hello, Amy," she said in greeting. "I'm Mrs Yamada. It's a pleasure to meet you."_

_Amy shook her hand; the older woman's fingers were long and slim and cool. "Likewise," she replied. She looked around at the office; it was furnished in earthy tones, and resembled the corner of someone's living room rather than a psychiatrist's office. On the wall, a large wooden clock ticked quietly, a short pendulum swinging from one side to the other._

"_Wow," she commented at last. "This is not what I expected."_

_Mrs Yamada chuckled gently. She had Oriental features, warm brown eyes and a ready smile. "I find that people are more at their ease when seated in a comfortable armchair than lying on a couch." She gestured at the two chairs. "Take your pick."_

_Amy chose a chair, and lowered herself into its embrace; slowly, she relaxed, feeling the tension leach out of her. Mrs Yamada gestured at a counter. "Would you like a drink, or a cookie?" she asked._

"_No, thank you, not at the moment," Amy told her._

"_Very well," Mrs Yamada assented, seating herself in the other chair and propping a notepad on her knee. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"_

_Amy blinked. "I thought we'd be going straight on to the topics Mike – Security – mentioned."_

_Again, the gentle, reassuring chuckle. "Not if you don't want to. You can't force therapy on anyone; if they want it, they get it. If they don't, all the doctors in the world cannot help them. So. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"_

_Amy thought about that. Mrs Yamada was … motherly. She was friendly and warm without being over-presumptuous, and Mike had assured her that nothing she said would freak the woman out. But she didn't want to jump into the deep end just yet. Better to test the waters first._

"_If – if I say things about my family, will any of it get back to them?"_

_Mrs Yamada tilted her head slightly. "Not if you don't want it to. Doctor-patient privilege."_

_Amy nodded. __**Good. **__"Well, you already know my father is Marquis."_

_A nod. "And how do you feel about that?"_

"_I – I really don't know," confessed Amy. "On the one hand, it's a little bit of a relief to finally find out who he really is. On the other, it's really weird knowing that it's my __**dad**__ who did all those things in Brockton Bay back in the nineties, before he went to the Birdcage. And it makes sense now, knowing who he is, understanding why Carol's treated me like she has."_

"_This is your adopted mother, Carol Dallon, yes?" asked Mrs Yamada._

"_Yes," Amy replied. "She and Flashbang – Mark – adopted me when they captured Marquis and had him sent to the Birdcage."_

_Mrs Yamada nodded. "You said you understood why she treated you like she did. How is it that she's treated you?"_

"_Like I've done something wrong, or I'm about to, and I've never understood why, until now!" Amy burst out. "I mean, I sort of knew my dad was a bad guy, but I never knew who. But Carol's always looked at me like I was just like him, and she was waiting for me to show my true colours."_

_She sniffled; Mrs Yamada handed her a box of tissues, and waited till she had blown her nose._

"_And do you think she was right?" asked the therapist gently._

"_No. Maybe, I don't know," Amy replied. "I've just been having these … thoughts, lately."_

"_Thoughts?" prompted Mrs Yamada._

_Amy began to explain, and Mrs Yamada listened patiently. On the wall of the office, the clock ticked quietly, and the pendulum swung, back and forth, back and forth._

=/=

"So how long do you believe you have?" asked the doctor as I climbed on to the CT gurney.

"About twenty-four hours," I told him. "She said thirty-six hours, and I'm fairly certain it's been buzzed about twelve times since then."

He nodded, staying well clear of me. "Well, we'll have a look at the thing, and see if we can't figure a way to get it out of you before too long."

"Sooner rather than later, yes," I agreed. I lay down on the gurney, and felt the machinery engage to push it into the archway that contained the CT apparatus. Lying still, with my arms at my side, I felt the metal tunnel enclose me. As bulky as I am, there wasn't much clearance in any direction.

"Now, lie still so that we can get the best possible picture," he cautioned me. Then he must have activated the microphone. "Director Piggot, we're ready to start."

Her reply came back clearly. _"Go ahead, Doctor."_

I distinctly heard the _click_ as he hit the switch to begin the scan. I also heard the hum of the machinery powering up. Unfortunately, I heard one other thing, all too clearly.

_BZZZT BZZZT BZZZT_

"Fuck!" I yelled. "Turn it off! Turn it off!" Awkwardly, hampered by the fact that I only just barely fit in the tunnel, and that I was on my back, I tried to struggle out of the archway.

"What?" he called back. "Hold still! You're spoiling the scan!"

_BZZZT BZZZT BZZZT_

"Turn it off! Turn it off!" I yelled again. "It's running down the timer!"

Grabbing the lower end of the archway, I heaved, pulling myself a few inches downward.

_BZZZT BZZZT BZZZT_

I struggled a few more inches, but it was hard going. _Fuck, I'll never get out in time._

And then the hum died down; he must have turned it off. I kept struggling, not willing to stop until I was out of there. But then the gurney activated, rolling back smoothly, conveying me out of the archway. I sat up, panting heavily. "That," I observed, "was a really bad fucking idea."

The doctor came over, but remembered to stop outside of the two-yard limit. His face was etched with concern. "What was that about?" he asked. "You said it was counting down the timer?"

"Yes!" I shouted. I started shaking. _If I had been in there a few seconds longer ..._

The door opened, and Director Piggot stepped in. "What's going on?" she asked. "What happened?"

"Bakuda is a sneakier bitch than I anticipated," I told her heavily. "Which was my mistake. You know when I said that I wouldn't put any booby trap past her?" I indicated the CT archway. "I should have thought that she'd put in detectors for medical sensors."

She grimaced. "How many hours did you lose?"

"Nine," I told her. "And about ten years off my life. I nearly had a fuckin' heart attack."

She stared. _"Nine?"_

I shrugged. "What I counted. Bakuda's a _mean_ bitch."

"We could try other types of sensor," the doctor suggested. "Ultrasound or x-ray ..."

Director Piggot and I both turned to him at the same time. _"No."_

I allowed the other two to exit before I followed them, keeping a careful three yards of distance between us.

"So whoever does the surgery is going in blind," Piggot observed, not sounding happy.

"And we've got no more than fifteen hours to get it sorted," I added.

"You don't think it's messed up the timer so it'll go faster?" she ventured, sounding even unhappier.

I turned to her with ice running down my spine. "Oh fuck, don't even _think_ that."

She met my gaze with eyes that had seen more terror, more horror than I ever had. And _she_ looked worried.

"Is it something that Bakuda would do?" she asked quietly.

I paused, wanting to say no. But I couldn't.

" … in a heartbeat," I admitted, equally quietly.

"Oh Christ, I'm sorry," the doctor blurted. "I never thought -"

I waved his apologies away. "Any active sensor would probably have done it," I told him. "No _wonder_ she was so fucking pleased with herself."

"How fast was it buzzing?" Piggot wanted to know.

"Groups of three," I admitted.

"So, fifteen hours compressed down to five then," she decided. "That's the timeframe we'll work with."

"Someone needs to contact Dragon, tell her that the deadline just moved up," I told her. "And what's the latest on Riley?"

"Dragon contacted us about fifteen minutes ago," she told me, sounding pleased that there was some good news to be had. "She'd finished fabricating the surgical waldos and was on her way here with them."

"Might want to light a fire under her," I suggested. "We just lost twenty hours."

"I'll do that," she decided. "As for Riley, she's being conveyed here under heavy guard from DC. I'll tell them to get a move along, to make sure she can get here in time to perform this surgery on you."

"_If_ I can convince her to help," I amended.

She gave me a look I could not read. "Just pull some of your Security bullshit," she told me, and moved off to make the call.

=/=

_Amy walked out of Mrs Yamada's office feeling as though her feet were not quite touching the floor. Her eyes were red from crying, but she and Mrs Yamada had made a good start on working out some of the issues that Mike had outlined. She could not believe what a huge relief it was to be able to talk to someone about them. She hadn't even realised the depths of her problems, and how much they had been weighing on her, until she began discussing them with the therapist._

_Danny looked up as she emerged, and rose to his feet. "Hey, kiddo," he greeted her. "Mrs Yamada, hi. I'm Danny Hebert."_

_Jessica Yamada shook his hand firmly. "Amy mentioned you, and how you've given her a place to stay," she observed. "That was kind of you."_

_He shrugged, watching as Taylor rose and came over to Amy. "A favour for a friend," he commented off-handedly. "But I'm not having any problems. Amy's a sweet kid."_

"_I've found her so," agreed Mrs Yamada. "This was just the first session, of course, but I think we made real progress today."_

_Taylor hugged Amy. "So how was it?" Amy felt the slimmer girl's arms go around her, returned the embrace._

_"It was … different," Amy decided. "But in a good way. It's ... I don't know how to describe it."_

_Danny nodded. "That's the general idea with therapy," he agreed. "You don't get better in just one session. But you're feeling good with it?"_

_"Yeah. I want to come back." She pulled back from the hug and looked at Taylor. "Did you come here from school just for me?"_

_Taylor grinned. "Well, that, and the fact that we got shut down early." She started for the door._

"_Bye, Mrs Yamada." Amy waved to the therapist, and followed Taylor._

"_Goodbye, Amy. See you next time."_

_Danny followed them out, closing the door behind them. The afternoon sun slanted across the pavement as they headed to where the car was parked._

"_Well, kids," he suggested, "how about ice cream? My treat. I've got the afternoon off, so we might as well do something fun, right?"_

"_Sure," replied Amy. "But Taylor, what do you mean, the school got shut down early?"_

_Taylor hesitated. "Uh … he said not to worry you."_

"_Who said to not to worry me about what?" asked Amy quietly._

_Taylor and Danny glanced at one another. Wordless communication passed between them, then Danny turned to Amy. "Mike," he told her. "He was … there was a supervillain attack. Bakuda and Oni Lee. Oni Lee was driven off. Mike captured Bakuda. But ..."_

"_Wait, wait, what?" exclaimed Amy. "__**Captured**__ her?"_

"_Beat hell out of her, as far as I could see," Taylor supplied. "But first … she, uh, implanted a bomb in his head."_

_Amy was stricken. "Christ!" she blurted. "Why didn't you tell me?"_

"_He told us not to," Taylor explained. "He didn't want to interrupt your therapy."_

"_**Fuck**__ the therapy!" Amy snapped. "I should have been told! It's his __**life**__, for Christ's sake!"_

"_Amy." Danny's voice was calm, collected._

_She looked at him, suddenly ashamed for swearing. "Uh, yes?"_

"_I trust Mike's judgement in this. Do you?"_

_She blinked. Remembered the heavy-set man entering the bank, talking to her calmly, walking her out, just before it was robbed. Changing her life._

_He had never hesitated, never flinched, even in the face of what he had known what was coming. What had nearly happened to her, but for his intervention._

"_I … I guess," she mumbled._

_He nodded. "Good. Now, the bomb's got a proximity sensor and a timer. If anyone gets within two yards of him, the timer ticks down an hour. The timer's good till sometime tomorrow afternoon, so they're getting a specialist in to do the surgery, using remote waldos. Probably sometime tonight or tomorrow morning."_

_Amy shook her head. "That's too long. I could do it right now. I could push the bomb right out of him."_

_Taylor looked uncomfortable. "Uh … he said to tell you no," she confessed._

"_What? No! Why not?"_

_Danny took a deep breath, then released it. "Tell you what," he decided, pulling out his keys and unlocking the car. "Let's go talk to him. He can tell you."_

"_Good idea," replied Amy, climbing in. "Let's do that."_

=/=

"Are you sure you want to talk to him?" asked Miss Militia. "You were involved in his capture, after all."

I paused outside Lung's cell. "Well, Riley still isn't here, so I may as well pass the time doing something constructive."

She tilted her head. "Constructive?"

I gestured at the cell. "We're gonna need him on side, sometime relatively soon. No time like the present for laying the groundwork."

She frowned. "But … he's going to the _Birdcage."_

I shrugged. "Maybe."

She shook her head, and keyed the door open. Massive bolts pulled back from their recesses, and the door swung slowly aside. Within was a set of heavy steel bars, backed on my side by a perforated sheet of perspex. And on the other side of the bars … was Lung.

He was impressive. I seemed to recall that even in rest state, he was still a formidable Brute. Bald, muscular, over six feet tall, he had shed his shirt to show off a truly impressive set of tattoos on his chest and neck and arms, all to do with dragons of one sort or another.

"Lung!" snapped Miss Militia. "Visitor!"

Slowly, he turned his head to observe me.

"I do not know you," he growled.

I took a few steps forward. "We've met. You can call me Security."

"It must not have been a very memorable meeting," he stated dismissively, turning his head away.

"I was wearing a mask at the time," I reminded him. "You tried to rip my guts out. I shot you a few times. Then Weaver deafened you and fed you a pepper spray canister."

His head turned back to me. "That ... was _you?"_ he grated.

I nodded. "That was me. You're one tough sonofabitch."

"How did you survive my claws?" he asked me, curious despite himself.

"I was wearing a stab vest. You pretty well ruined it."

He chuckled briefly. "Lucky."

I tilted my head. "Not luck. Preparation and planning."

His eyes narrowed. "So. You have come to gloat?"

"No. I've come to make you an offer."

Slowly, he stood, and he moved over to the bars. "Who is to say that I will accept any offer _you_ make, fat man?"

I looked up at him; I stand nearly six feet myself, but he was taller than me. "That's up to you, once you hear the terms."

"Wait," he growled. "Turn your head to the left."

With a sigh, I turned my head. The reddened scar was made plainly visible.

"Bakuda," he spat. It seemed that he did not approve of her practice of putting bombs in people.

"Got it in one," I confirmed.

"You are one of hers now?" Then he reconsidered. "But no, they would not allow you in here."

"No," I agreed. "Not one of hers. I beat shit out of her, after she did this to me."

He took the news of her beating with equanimity. "And Oni Lee?"

"He was being attacked the same way you were, with bugs. He left. We haven't seen him since."

"Hm." The sound was a growl. "So, how much time do you have?"

He was more perceptive than he seemed. "Long enough."

"Which means, not long," he noted. "So, fat man, what is your offer?"

"I want you to join me," I told him, deadpan.

He stared at me, face blank, for a long moment, then he burst out laughing. I folded my arms and watched him. Eventually, he calmed himself, but a savage grin was still lurking about his face as he composed his features.

"That was a good joke," he allowed. "Now tell me why you are really here."

I sighed in impatience. "Let's start with how you ended up in this cell," I told him. "I knew exactly where you would be, and when. I knew how many men you would have with you. I took a brand-new cape with me, one who had never been in a single fight. I told her exactly how to defeat you. And she did. Handily. Lung, the toughest cape in Brockton Bay, the man who went toe-to-toe with Leviathan, was taken down by a teenage girl with the assistance of one old, fat security guard."

His face darkened. "So, you came to gloat after all," he snarled.

I shook my head. "Hardly. That was just a demonstration."

He stared at me; I didn't elaborate. Finally, as I knew he would, he broke the silence.

"A demonstration of what?" he asked.

"That things are changing," I told him flatly. "The world is changing. And if you don't change yourself, you'll get left behind."

"Changing?" he growled. "In what way?"

"The Slaughterhouse Nine are done," I informed him. "Eidolon killed all but two of them, just the other day. I told him how to do it." It was stretching the truth, but not very much.

His eyes widened fractionally. "Even Crawler?"

I nodded. "Even Crawler."

He shrugged. "They had made enemies of the civilised world. It was inevitable."

I dropped my bombshell. "And the Endbringers are finished."

That got his attention. He stared at me. "You joke."

I shook my head. "Nope. I have taken steps, and the Endbringers are no longer a factor."

He stared at me, seeking any sign of deception. I stared back, holding his gaze.

"I have faced an Endbringer in combat," he growled. "I know their strength, their power. Do you?"

"I know far more about Endbringers, and their strengths and weaknesses, than you ever will," I retorted. "And I have neutralised them as surely as you were taken down, once upon a time, in a drug house in Japan, years ago. Remember? When your face was pushed into the white powder, and you were choking on it, before you triggered. Do you remember, Kenta?"

His stare hardened, sharpened. "How do you know of that?"

I chuckled. "Sorry. You're not cleared to know that."

"Do not taunt me, fat man, or I swear -"

I shook my head. "No taunt. It's the simple truth. Director Piggot isn't cleared to know that." I showed my teeth in a grin. "Even _Chief Director Costa-Brown_ doesn't have that clearance."

He paused, apparently thinking. "Then who do you speak for?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Myself. And the world. I'm here to save it. And I'm going to need your help."

His voice was scornful. "One so powerful as you, and you say you need my help, one who you defeated so easily."

"There is power and there is power, Kenta, known as Lung. There is the power that comes from knowledge, and the power that comes from a strong right arm. I have the former. You have the latter. And as useful as knowledge is, sometimes you just need someone who can hit, really, really hard."

He tilted his head to one side. "And what do you need me to hit?" It wasn't surrender, or even agreement. He was feeling out the territory, seeing what I wanted.

I shook my head slightly. "Not yet. I just need to know if you're on board. Because if you're with me on this, you're accepting a new world, a new way of doing things. You're stepping away from the ABB. They're the past. This is the future. Are you stuck in the past, or are you a part of the future?"

He was silent for a long moment. While he was still thinking, Miss Militia cleared her throat, and gestured back out of the cell. I nodded.

"Think about it, Kenta," I invited him. "But don't take too long. The world's not about to stop changing. I'm not done yet."

I stepped back out, and the door swung shut with a heavy _clunk._ Automatically, it locked, the bolts sliding into their recesses.

"Riley's here?" I asked.

Miss Militia nodded. "They just landed. And you have visitors. Weaver, her father, and Panacea."

"Oh boy," I muttered. "Here we go."

As we walked along, a careful two yards apart, she turned her head to face me. "What you said to him in there ..."

"Yeah?"

"How much of that was true?"

I shrugged. "All of it, more or less."

She was silent for a few moments, processing that information.

"So why were you asking him for help?"

I turned to look her in the eye. "Because we're gonna need him. Sooner or later, we're gonna need _everyone's_ help."

She didn't have a response for that; we walked on.

=/=

_Alan Barnes looked over at Emma as he drove her home. She huddled, silent, on the passenger seat. The paramedics had pronounced her healthy, with just a few bruises and contusions to show for her ordeal. These had been cleaned on site, and she had been released into her father's care._

"_Emma?" he asked. "How are you feeling?"_

_She sat up slightly then, and looked around at him._

"_I … think I'll be all right," she managed. "Eventually. After I get over all of this."_

_He nodded. "I just want you to know that your mother and I will be right beside you all the way. If you want to stay out of school for a while ..."_

_She shook her head. "No. I'll be fine. It's not like the last time."_

_He remembered the last time. Eighteen months previously. The ABB ambushing the car, dragging his daughter out through the broken window. The stuff of nightmares. He'd had them, for several weeks afterward. Hers had lasted longer, it seemed._

"_Not the same?" he asked curiously._

_She nodded, jerkily. "This time I had a choice. Sort of. And Mr Allen saved me. After I saved Mr Gladly. He was saved, wasn't he?"_

_Alan nodded. "From what I understand, his vitals were strong when they took him away."_

_In truth, he had no idea what state the man had been in, but he had to encourage this line of thought._

"_Good," she replied._

"_Emma …" he began. "You did a good thing. You saved his life. But … as your father … please don't __**ever**__ do that again." His tone was pleading. A tear ran down his cheek._

_Slowly, she shook her head, her hand stealing up to touch her throat. "Don't worry about that, Dad. I died a thousand times while that thing was around my neck." She drew a deep breath. "But I think I learned something really, really important."_

_He tilted his head, glancing toward her. "Learned something?"_

_She nodded. "I was wrong. Sophia was wrong. Badly wrong."_

"_About what?"_

_She took a deep breath. "About strength. It's not about pushing people down. It's about helping them. If you can help others, then that's strength."_

_He didn't disagree. The rest of the drive passed in silence._

=/=

Getting me up and down in the elevator involved a certain amount of thought. I wasn't about to climb all those stairs myself; a heart attack just might do what the bomb failed to do. But we figured it out. Miss Militia went first and then sent the lift back down to me; it was just too small for two people to stand six feet apart, even diagonally. I got in, hit the 'express' button, and the doors interleaved shut.

Waiting for me, when I got up there, were Danny, Taylor and Amy. Danny looked concerned, Taylor looked serious, and Amy looked pissed.

"Hey, guys - " I began, but Amy cut me off.

"Don't you go 'hey' to me, Michael Allen!" she snapped.

"Whoa, hold on a second," I protested. "What's going on? Why so upset?" I thought I knew, but I figured I'd ask, just in case.

"I'm upset because you don't trust me to help you!" she accused me. "You're just like -"

She cut her words off then, but I heard the next one loud and clear. _Carol._

The realisation hit me harder than Lung had done, on that warm Sunday night. _Oh. I'm a moron. She's been living in an atmosphere of mistrust for ten years. And then I go and do this._

"Oh shit," I exclaimed. "No, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. And I didn't mean to make you think I didn't trust you. Of _course_ I bloody well trust you."

She took a deep breath. _"Then why didn't you call me?"_ she shouted.

I chose my words carefully. "Because it's not your job. Because you're _off duty,_ young lady."

She had a full head of steam, ready to blast more anger at me. But my words caught her up short. "You know I – what?"

"You heard me. You're off healing duties for a month. That started this morning. You promised that you'd lay off healing people, and you'd attend therapy, all month. Right?"

"I – yes, I promised, and I am going to therapy, but -"

I raised my eyebrows questioningly. "But what?"

"But you need me to help you! That's more important!"

I waited a few beats, then I shook my head. "No."

She blinked, the rug pulled out from under her. "What?"

"I said no. _Nothing_ is more important than you getting your head together. And if you decide that my problems are more important, then what's to say that tomorrow someone else will be more important? Then before you know it, you'll be sneaking out to go to the hospital again, and you'll be feeling twice as guilty, because you'll still be burning out, even as you know you should be holding off."

"But you might_ die!"_ she wailed.

"Anyone could die before tomorrow," I told her. "Earthquake. Meteorite strike. Sudden unexplained Endbringer attack. Your next door neighbour manifests super-powers and flattens your house by accident. A portal opens to the Star Trek universe and your house is swamped with Tribbles. It's a strange, strange universe." _Stranger than you know._

She giggled despite herself, then sobered. "But why won't you let me help you?" she persisted. "I'll do therapy for an extra day."

I sighed. "Because the bomb has a proximity sensor," I told her. "If you came within two yards, you would kick the counter down an hour. And I've only got four or five left."

"I could get the bomb out in that time," she insisted. "It would take ten seconds, tops. Maybe less."

"And can you deal with any booby traps that Bakuda has built in to stop just that from happening?" I asked gently. "Suppose she's set it up that if it gets taken out while someone's in proximity range, it goes off?"

Her face paled, the freckles standing out in sharp detail. "I – I didn't think of that. _Would_ she do something like that?"

"She already made it so that when we tried to get a CT scan of it, it set the timer on to triple speed," I advised her. "That's why I've only got five hours. My best bet is to go with another Tinker. Actually, two Tinkers. I'm just going to talk to one of them now."

She frowned. "Who?"

I shook my head. "You know how I've said there's things you're better off not knowing?"

"Um … yes?"

"That's one of them."

Her expression turned outraged. "What? But ..."

"Sorry, but that's the way it's got to be," I told her. "Though ..."

She looked hopeful. "Yes?"

"If you could maybe stick around? There's a small but non-zero chance that this will go bad without actually killing me. If that happens, there's no-one I'd prefer to try to piece me back together, afterward." I imagined Riley piecing me back together, and shuddered.

She looked determined. "You bet."

I gave Danny a nod, which he returned. For Taylor, I mimed a fist-bump gesture, which she copied, despite the fact that we were three yards apart.

I turned to Miss Militia. "So, where is she?"

She gestured back toward the lift. "This way." _Of course. Basement level, in the cells._

And off we went, to speak with Bonesaw.

=/=

_Principal Blackwell sat at her personal computer. Winslow would be shut down for a couple of days, until the PRT bomb disposal teams were sure that the building was clear of the lethal little devices that they had found scattered liberally through the classrooms. Fortunately, it was Friday, so the curriculum would suffer as little disruption as possible._

_**Talking of disruptions …**_

_The three girls at the centre of the Winslow hostage situation had acquitted themselves well; Emma had offered herself as a hostage to spare Mr Gladly's life. Madison and Julia had assisted Mr Allen in saving Gladly from bleeding out altogether._

_**Taylor Hebert will be attending Arcadia. There will be no danger of this particular situation recurring. And perhaps the girls have learned an important lesson of life.**_

_With Gladly in the hospital, she simply would not have the staff to oversee the girls in their in-school detention. She could still uphold the ban on sports and other activities, but allowing them to return to their studies … that was only fair._

_**As for the gangs …**_

_She opened a new page in her word processor program._

**Gang activity,** _she typed_, **is no longer permitted within Winslow High School. Any persons wearing the insignia of, or expressing support toward, the gangs known as Azn Bad Boyz, Empire Eighty-Eight or the Merchants – or any other criminal gang – will undergo immediate punishment.**

_She paused, thinking about the next few lines. And how it would be received by the student body. And the staff._

**First offenders will be warned. Failure to immediately dispose of the insignia or to cease the gang activity will lead to suspension without appeal. A second offence will lead to the summary expulsion of the student or students involved.**

_She typed a few more lines, then saved the document and attached it to an email intended for the school governors, for their approval. After what had happened in Winslow – it was plastered all over the evening news – she doubted that they would object._

_The PRT had taken away Mr Allen, without releasing much in the way of information regarding his situation. She suspected some sort of potentially serious injury, perhaps inflicted by a super-powered opponent. In any case, she doubted that he would be fit to return to duty on Monday morning._

_After a few moments of introspection, she opened the email and began typing again._

**As our current security guard, Michael Allen, is likely to be unable to be fit for work, we will need able-bodied guards if the above notice is to be enforced. I hereby request that you contract another guard from Wolfhound, or perhaps two more.**

_Closing off the email, she sent it away._

_**I will admit that I did not like the man, but the fact remains that he did his job, and did it well. I can only hope that whoever they send me can do their job half as well as he did, against the criticism we all levelled at him.**_

_And that job, she knew, would be cut out for them._

=/=

The lift doors interleaved open once more. Earlier, I had been impressed by the technology. Now, I was just pleased that the lift was fast enough to get me where I wanted to go without excess delay.

As I exited, the sound I was dreading to hear echoed through my skull once more.

_BZZZT BZZZT BZZZT_

Miss Militia looked at my face and immediately knew that something was wrong.

"What happened?" she asked.

"The Director was right," I informed her grimly. "I just got a countdown warning. Three buzzes. I've got four hours left."

She nodded in understanding. "Then let's make this count."

Bonesaw's cell was not unlike Lung's, although it was in a different section, and the guards wore full environmental gear. This was where they kept the _real_ problematic cases, I gathered.

There was the main door, then the sheet of perspex; only this time, it wasn't pierced. The air on her side of the barrier stayed on her side of the barrier. Like Lung's it no doubt had hidden containment foam sprayers, ready to encase her at a moment's notice if she tried anything strange.

I stepped into the space before the perspex sheet; Miss Militia carefully kept out of my way.

Beside the door, there was an intercom button and a speaker. I pressed the button.

"Excuse me, Riley? Do you have a moment?"

The child on the other side of the barrier looked around at me in some surprise. I was jolted; somehow, I had expected her to show some outward sign of her years in the Slaughterhouse Nine. But she was as cherubic as any normal twelve year old. Blonde hair, now cut short; kid-size prison sweats. I wondered where they'd gotten those; it would not be as if there were many child supervillains.

And then, I realised, there _were._ Starlet, August Prince, Bambina, just to name three.

_How many kids must trigger and turn to crime these days?_

_Lisa, Brian, Rachel, Alec …_

_Wow._

_This world is __**hurting.**_

_One more reason to try to fix it, reduce the amount of conflict going around._

"Um, who are you?" she asked, approaching the perspex. "Are you my lawyer?"

I shook my head. "No, Riley. But I can maybe help you more than he can." _If she even gets one. As I recall, there's a standing kill order on all members of the Nine. I doubt they'd even get a trial, let alone a lawyer. _"My name's Mike."

She frowned. "Why are you calling me Riley?"

I shrugged. "Because it's your name. Had you forgotten?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I hadn't forgotten. But how did _you_ know it? _No-one_ knows my real name."

My voice was gentle. "Because Jack never let you use it, did he? You weren't Riley. You were his little Bonesaw."

She swallowed. "You'd better be careful. He'll come for me soon. You don't want to be here when he does."

"Jack?" I shook my head. "He's dead. Eidolon made sure of it."

It was her turn to shake her head. "Nobody can kill Mr Jack. They've been trying since before I was born. And he'll come for me, and he'll be _angry."_

I raised an eyebrow. "Angry at me, for being the one who helped Eidolon capture you, or angry at you for being caught?"

She didn't answer; she just hugged one arm around herself, clasping her other arm. The gesture tore at my heart.

'Well," I went on, "Jack is well and truly dead. So you don't have to be his Bonesaw any more. You can go back to being Riley."

She dug a bare foot into the rubber matting, then looked defiantly at me. "You can't tell me what to do!"

I grinned at her, and leaned against the wall. Slid down till I was sitting on the floor. "Good. That's good."

Riley frowned, confused. "What?"

"Talk back to me. Get angry. Think about what's going on around you. Bonesaw was the good girl who did what people told her. What Jack told her. She was the good girl, because that's what your mommy told you to be, right?"

Her frown deepened. "How do you know that? How do you know what she said?"

I shrugged slightly. "Same way I know you loved Muffles and Drew too, even though you fought with him."

_Every little girl loves her pet, and every girl fights with her brother._ I had a little sister, myself, and I recalled some epic arguments.

Her mouth dropped open. "How do you – no fair! You know stuff about me that _no-one_ knows!"

"Yup. And that's how I know Riley's still inside there. Waiting to come out. Because six years is a long time."

She shook her head. "No. That's not true."

"Isn't it?" I asked gently. "Are you absolutely certain … Riley?"

"No," she insisted. "I've done too much, hurt too many people. I'm not Riley any more. I'm Bonesaw. Riley doesn't do things like that to people."

"No," I agreed. "She helps people. Which is why you're here. I need help, Riley. I need _your_ help."

She blew a raspberry. "Like I'd help you. You got me in here. You got Mr Jack and the others killed. What am I gonna get if I help?"

"A pat on the back," I observed truthfully. "And a little more leeway. More comfort. They'd give you the option to reverse the surgeries you've done on yourself. Start making amends. Helping people."

She rolled her eyes. "As if anyone would allow Bonesaw to even get close to them. People don't forget, _Mike. _With all the will in the world, they'd still reject me. And they'd be correct to do it." A perceptive glance. "What you need help with … will you die, otherwise?"

"It's a very real possibility," I admitted.

"And if I help you, and you die anyway, they'll say I did it on purpose. And maybe I would. I don't like being forced to do something."

"I can understand that," I agreed. "Like they forced you into the Nine, in the first place."

She shook her head vigorously. "No. No. They recruited me, fair and square. Mr Jack said so."

My expression was deadpan, my voice expressionless. "Really."

"He _said_ so!" she insisted.

I shook my head. "Do you know what Jack's powers were?" I asked quietly.

She frowned, puzzled at the change in topic. "That … knife blade thing," she said at last, waving her hand vaguely.

I nodded. "That's one of them. His powers were based around _communication._ One part of it physically communicated a cutting edge as far as he wanted it to. Another part let him know exactly what another parahuman was going to do before they did it – his power communicated with their powers, you see. And the third part let him talk to people, to know exactly what to say to them to get them to do what he wanted them to do. Particularly parahumans. That's how he managed to dance between the raindrops for more than twenty years."

She stared at me. "That … that makes so much sense," she responded at last.

"Does, doesn't it?" I agreed. "Anyway, the way they recruited you? Forcing you to bring your family back to life – your mommy, your daddy, Drew, Muffles – over and over again, until you were too tired to think straight, until you simply couldn't _face_ it any more. That was Jack's doing. He knew how to break you. What to do, what to say. When to ask you if you really loved your mommy. How to phrase it so that you'd decide that you didn't, just to break out of the endless cycle of fixing them, just to watch him and his friends kill them again ..."

I trailed off. She was staring at me, eyes wide. I waited; she didn't seem to have much to say.

"Your mommy told you to be a good girl," I went on. "And so you did. You ate your vegetables, and you didn't use bad words, and you did what you were told." I spread my hands. "Of course, the person doing the telling was a sociopathic monster, and you learned to use your powers to pretend to be a monster as well, to enjoy it, because that way he would be happy with you. Stockholm syndrome; it's a thing."

She was shaking her head again; not in negation, but in denial. "No," she insisted. "No, it's not true, it can't be true. Mr Jack didn't do that to me. I decided to do it all by myself."

I considered using Contessa's 'breadth and depth' line on her, but decided against it. It had worked for Contessa because, well, Contessa. At that precise time and place, it had worked. Here and now … I wasn't Contessa. I only had access to Path to Victory via second hand use, if I was lucky. Here and now … not so much.

"I don't believe that, Riley," I told her flatly. "And nor do you. Inside, you're still the same girl who loved her parents and her brother and her pet. You're a good girl; not the 'good girl' Jack made you into, but an actual good girl, who wants to help people, not hurt them. I know it, just like I know all the other things about you."

She ran her fingers through her cropped blonde hair. "How do you know those things, anyway?" she demanded again. "Who told? Mr Jack?"

"Not Jack," I told her. "I just know them. And I know one other thing."

"What's that?" she asked.

"That right now, I need your help. I need the help of the best surgeon in the world."

She looked me up and down. "You've already said that, but you didn't say what for." She paused. "What's that scar on your neck?"

I nodded slowly, then turned my head to give her a better look. "Bakuda put a bomb in my head; as far as we can tell, it's somewhere up under the base of my brain. But she included booby-traps to make surgical extraction as hard as possible."

She spread her hands. "So get someone like Panacea to make it pop out of you. Problem solved."

My voice was flat. "Maybe you weren't listening. Bakuda. Booby traps. Including a proximity sensor that kicks the timer over if someone gets within six feet of me. And another that speeds it up if we try medical sensor equipment."

"Both of which have already happened, I'm guessing," she observed, pressing closer to the perspex to get a better look at the scar.

"Got it in one," I admitted ruefully. "Started with thirty-six hours. Lost ten hours beating her up. Lost another couple pissing about here and there, waiting for you to turn up and suchlike. And lost nine when they put me under a CT scan."

"Which leaves fifteen hours, more or less," she noted. She was a sharp kid, of course.

I shook my head. "The bout with the CT scanner sped up the timer. I've got a little less than four hours to go."

I looked directly at her. "Bakuda is really inventive with her booby-traps. Let's just say that this is a challenge to you; can the master surgeon remove something that the master bomb-builder put in someone's head?"

She rubbed her chin, frowning. Not convinced yet. Still looking shaken by the information I had forced on her. "I'd need tools -"

"Surgical waldos, built to fit your hands and eyes, have been fabricated and are being flown in," I pointed out.

She tilted her head. "Who by?"

"Dragon. She's going to assist in this operation, and help deal with the booby-traps as they come up."

Riley actually looked impressed for a moment. "Surgical tools built by _Dragon?"_ And then the expression gave way to one of suspicion. "Why do you rate this? Why do you rate _me?"_

I shrugged slightly, modestly. "People seem to think I'm important for what I know."

"Huh." She stared into thin air. "Dragon-made surgical tools ..."

"So you'll do it?"

Immediately I uttered the words, I knew I had been too fast, too eager in saying them. Too rattled by the encroaching deadline.

Her defences came up again. "I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to manipulate me, just like Jack did."

I noted the lack of the honorific, but chose not to comment on it. She was still talking.

"The Nine killed my family, yeah, but then they _became_ my family. In a really twisted way, but they were all I had. And now you helped Eidolon kill them, and you're trying to talk me into doing something for you. Why should I do anything for you?"

I spread my hands. "I … because it's the right thing to do?"

She laughed mirthlessly. "For you, sure. For me? What do I care if you live or die? You're all like _him._ Telling me what to do!"

I tried, one more time. "Riley -"

Stubbornly, she folded her arms and turned away. "Leave me alone. I don't do what anyone tells me, any more." Walking to the far corner of the cell, she sat down, cross-legged, facing the wall.

"Riley!" I called out.

She put her hands over her ears.

_Fuck. I was so close._

With a certain amount of effort – extra weight and stiff joints will do that to you – I levered myself to my feet. Miss Militia eyed me with concern.

"Let's go," I told her. "I got nothing here."

=/=

I met Dragon in the area that was being set aside for the surgery. She had a suit of what looked like power armour; I guessed the humanoid remote form was still under development.

Pausing a few yards from her, I held up a finger. "Just checking; not a Cadfael?"

She shook the armoured helmet. "No. May I ask how you knew about those?"

"In time," I told her, moving gingerly closer. "It's good to see you."

She shook my hand. "You as well, Michael. I'm glad that you requested my help."

I gave her a halfway grin. "I'm glad you said yes."

"Well, of _course,"_ she protested. "I could never repay the debt I owe you."

"Nothing is owed," I corrected her. "But I accept the favour." I paused. "And how's things with …?"

She took my meaning, as I had known she would. "Progressing," she informed me, and I heard the smile in her voice.

"Good," I told her, and meant it. But it was time to get back to business. "However, I ran into a snag at my end."

"Which is …?"

"I was going to get Bonesaw to be the primary surgeon, while you assisted. And I thought I nearly had her talked into it. But I put my foot wrong, and she spat the dummy, and now she's not talking to me."

She tilted her head. "Spat the dummy …?"

_Oh shit. That's an Australian term._

"Uh, got angry. Refused to listen."

Her voice was concerned. "Oh dear. With her doing it, you would have had a very good chance at success."

I nodded. "Which is why I would like you to install the controls in her cell anyway. Just in case she decides to have a change of heart. But prepare to run the surgery yourself."

Concern had turned to worry. "I don't have much in the way of experience with surgical procedures, Michael."

I gave her what may have passed for a grin. "Then you've got three hours to learn. Plenty of time."

=/=

I lay on the surgical table. By the clock, it had been two hours since Dragon had arrived. You couldn't tell it by me; one moment, it felt like five minutes, the next it felt like three and a half eternities, stacked one atop the other. Every time that damned triple buzz sounded, I thought _Oh shit, here it comes, I've miscounted and I'm gonna die._

But I hadn't. My skull was still intact, and Dragon was preparing for the surgery.

The surgical waldos loomed over me like an over-enthusiastic spider poising for the kill. Scalpel blades, probes, other tools I could not name, all controlled by a computer setup the size of a shoebox.

Dragon, of course, was plugged into the system wirelessly; her 'suit' stood beside me, ready for whatever on-the-spot action the waldos could not handle.

Personally, looking at the multiplexity of them, I couldn't think of such a situation.

"I believe that I have reached the point of diminishing returns," she told me evenly. "Further study would be compromised by the chance of not being able to finish the surgery in time. If I am to operate, then I must do it now."

Now was the time, I knew, to make a dramatic and stirring speech, to rally those I left behind, in case I didn't make it. But I had every intention of making it; even as I did everything I could to maximise my chances of survival, I had faith in Contessa doing something – _anything_ – to save my sorry arse.

Of course, she was best at acting behind the scenes, so if she was doing something, no-one was seeing it.

* * *

I sighed. "Let's do this thing."

Lying back, I tried to relax as one of the waldo arms moved closer, a needle probing toward my skin - "Wait!" I shouted.

The waldo stopped, inches from me.

"What?" asked Dragon. "Is there something wrong?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "Just out of curiosity, injecting anaesthetic into me will alter my blood chemistry, right?"

"Yes," agreed Dragon. "But why – oh!"

"Oh, is right," I agreed heavily. "No anaesthetic. Just in case."

_She even told me that she didn't use anaesthetic. Was it a hint or a warning?_

"This is going to hurt terribly, Michael," Dragon warned me.

"Yeah, don't I know it," I muttered. "Listen, you're gonna have to strap me down."

"Are you sure -?"

I shook my head. "No. But she'd do it. You know that and so do I. We can't take the chance. _Strap me down."_

=/=

_Riley glared at the waldo controls that had been installed in her cell. They awaited her touch to come alive, to activate. The screen over the top was not intended for use when she was actually working the waldos, but for anyone who was standing back for the action._

_**He's going to get Dragon to do the operation,**__ she realised.__** And he's going to make me watch. And when she screws it up –**__ in her mind it was 'when', not 'if' –__** it's supposed to be all my fault because I didn't help. But I never asked for this. I don't want to be here.**_

_**What's he ever done for me?**_

"_A great deal, actually."_

_The cool voice behind her made her jump violently. She turned fast, bringing her defensive systems online, those that had not been neutralised by the PRT surgeons._

_The woman stood placidly, arms folded. She had pale skin and dark hair, and wore a black suit. Riley could not shake the impression that the woman __**owned**__ the space around her, wore the cell like a second skin._

"_What is this? Where did you come from?"_

_The woman smiled enigmatically. "Do you really need me to answer those questions?"_

_Riley frowned. "I guess not. You're from … where I was being kept, before they brought me here." A thought struck her, and she glanced around. "The cameras?"_

"_Taken care of," the woman assured her. "As far as they're concerned, this conversation never happened."_

"_Fine." Riley looked back at her. "So what __**do**__ you want?"_

"_I want you to perform the operation on Michael Allen, and successfully remove Bakuda's bomb from next to his brainstem."_

_Riley snorted. "He already asked me. Didn't give me enough of a reason why I should." She looked up at the woman. "Are you going to threaten me now?"_

_The woman shook her head. "It wouldn't work. You're not that sort of person. I'm just going to ask you politely. But first, I'm going to tell you the reasons why you should, the ones he was too modest to tell you. Perhaps for fear that you would think he was exaggerating for effect."_

_Riley rolled her eyes. __**As if.**_

_And then the woman began to speak, quietly but compellingly._

_And Riley listened._

=/=

Straps had been hastily procured and affixed to the surgical table. They were fastened to me by Dragon, checking at each step that my circulation was not cut off. The second last strap held my head in place, as immovably as a part of the table. The _last_ strap went between my teeth, at my own insistence.

"I do not like this, Michael," Dragon told me. "There are too many things that can go wrong."

I spat out the strap. "And if you do nothing, then it will _definitely_ go wrong," I assured her. "Now put the strap back in my mouth, and get that damn bomb out of me."

Obediently, she placed the strap back into my mouth.

I shut my eyes tightly as the first scalpel eased into position, other waldo arms ready to perform tasks such as mopping blood.

The first touch of the cold steel stung my flesh. I clenched my teeth.

"_You're doing it all wrong."_

Had I not been strapped down, I would have jumped, and quite possibly cut myself badly on the scalpel blade. Fortunately, Dragon possessed no such reflex.

"Riley," Dragon greeted her urbanely. "Do you wish to observe and perhaps advise?"

"_Observe, hell. Step aside. This is my schtick. I'll be damned if I let some jumped-up bomb-builder beat me in surgery."_

"With pleasure," Dragon replied. "Be aware, the patient has refused anaesthesia for very good reasons."

"_I know. I was listening. It doesn't matter. I never use the stuff myself. But if you nick the nerves here … and here … and here ..."_

I didn't have time to cry out as three loci of pain blossomed on my skin, nowhere near the point where Dragon had been about to cut. They weren't that painful, I realised. Surface cuts only.

_'"… should deaden sensation to that entire area. Let's see now."_

A gentle pressure on the side of my neck. My eyes flicked up to the screen that carried the imagery of the ongoing surgery; I had insisted on being able to see it myself. The scalpel blade was opening my skin, the flesh of my neck, like a knife through hot butter. And it felt no more painful than running one's fingernail across the skin.

It was very, very creepy to watch.

"_Actually," _Riley commented. _"What the hell. Let's turn him off for the duration."_

_No –_ I thought, but it was too late. One of the waldo arms did something, and I plummeted into an endless pit of darkness.

=/=

_Michael Allen lay inert, as the waldos carefully probed the surgical wound in the side of his neck, up under the base of his skull. Dragon and Riley murmured to one another as the surgery progressed, half-sentences that one began and the other finished._

_They had gotten as far as finding the bomb itself; snuggled up next to his brainstem, as Contessa had told Riley, it was going to be trouble getting out. Especially as Bakuda had apparently planted a pressure switch against one of his vertebrae._

_Riley identified booby traps and worked out ways around them, and Dragon implemented the solutions. Occasionally, this worked the other way around. They were making progress, but Dragon feared that it was too slow. Time was getting close. Too close._

"_Riley," she ventured. "Is it connected to anything important?"_

"_**Can't see it if it is,"**__ the bio-tinker replied absently, a scalpel delicately severing a wire. __**"She's good at booby-traps. Real good. But when it comes to wetware, I'm better."**_

"_Can you repair damage from hypothermia in that immediate area?"_

"_**You've got a plan?"**_

"_Liquid nitrogen, then pluck it."_

"_**You realise, L-N or no L-N, that plan ends in boom."**_

"_This remote unit has a reinforced internal storage compartment. I did not pick it at whim."_

"_**Hm. We **_**are**_** running low on time. Good thing I put him out. He might protest."**_

"_Or he might urge us to go ahead."_

"_**Good point. Let me open the way."**_

_Later, it would never be certain as to whether it was the proximity of the scalpel waldo itself, or something else, that triggered the final sequence on the bomb. Fortunately, Dragon's suit held many finely tuned sensors. She picked up the electrical impulses within the tiny, deadly device._

"_Riley!" she snapped._

_The waldos pulled back out of the way with eye-defying speed. Liquid nitrogen hissed, and white clouds rose. The detonation sequence was slowed, fractionally._

_Just long enough for nimble waldos to reach in, get a grip, and pluck the bomb from its niche. Dragon's hand closed over it; the suit turned and took two fast strides away from the bed, a compartment already opening in its chest._

_Just over one whole second from the beginning of the detonation sequence, the bomb went off._

_The storage compartment was shielded, which was fortunate; the first part of the explosion blasted microwaves in all directions, in sufficient quantities to cook a human brain to tapioca in an instant. Then came the actual detonation, which served to blow a large chunk out of the suit. Slowly, it fell over, several important systems destroyed._

_From her cell, Riley turned the waldo cameras to observe the smoking wreck of the remote suit._

"_**Well, damn,"**__ she commented. Even as PRT troops entered the room, she began to repair the damage done by the supercooled liquid to the tissues of Michael Allen's neck._

_He'd have a sore neck for a while, but he would survive._

* * *

End of Chapter Twenty-Nine


	30. Chapter 30

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Thirty: The Big Reveal

* * *

_Emily Piggot stood next to the large perspex window and watched the waldos at work. She also kept an eye on the PRT techs in the room, checking the wreckage of the Dragon unit, to ensure that nothing noxious was leaking out of it. So far, no alarms were sounding, which was a good thing._

_The Heberts stood beside her, father and daughter. Both were tall; Taylor, skinny as she was, overtopped Emily by an inch or so. They watched the operation with a fair degree of concern. Beyond them, Panacea stood next to Taylor; the two girls had unconsciously clasped hands._

_The Dallon girl was describing to Taylor what the waldos were doing; Emily belatedly recalled that Panacea had gotten enough training for an honorary medical degree, over and above her healing powers._

"_So that was the bomb?" asked Danny; they had all jumped when the Dragon unit had grabbed something small, taken two steps and exploded._

"_It seems so," Piggot told him._

_They watched the waldos closing up the incision in Michael Allen's neck. The mechanical arms were swift and efficient, and soon, all that was visible was a thin red line._

_The Director turned to Amy. "Panacea, would you consider that Michael Allen is out of danger?"_

_Amy nodded, without taking her eyes from the scene beyond the window. "Yes. I'd have to check him personally to be absolutely sure, but … "_

"_Good." Piggot lifted a comm unit to her mouth. "Shut down the waldos."_

_One of the techs stepped over to the waldo control box. Even as two of the arms slid IV needles into the back of Allen's hand, he pressed a switch. The waldo arms went limp, retracting automatically to their rest position over the box._

"_Wait, what?" asked Danny. "What did you do that for?" The two girls were looking around in concern as well._

_Piggot couldn't believe she had to actually explain this. "Bonesaw is a supervillain with a long history of mutilating people and rebuilding them to the point where they are no longer human. Security is out of danger. I don't know what he did to convince her to operate on him, but there is no sense in giving her time to decide not to help him any more. Ordinary medical staff can cover this from here on."_

_Danny grimaced. "I guess … but it seems a little cold, a little mistrusting, to me. After all, she just saved his life."_

"_**Dragon**__ saved his life, at the expense of her own remote unit," the Director reminded him._

_Taylor turned to Amy. "There was more to it than that, wasn't there?"_

_The biokinetic's face was troubled. "There was, but … I didn't know that he had Bonesaw doing the operation. I don't know that I would have been happy with it. She didn't do anything __**wrong**__, and some of the things she did during the operation were sheer brilliance, but still … he picked __**Bonesaw**__ over me … "_

"_Hey." Taylor put an arm around her shoulders. "Cheer up. You're there as the backstop, remember? If it went wrong, he wanted you to put him back together, not her."_

_Amy nodded. "I guess." But her voice was still doubtful._

_Piggot's comm chimed. She answered it. "Yes?"_

"_**Ma'am, I have Bonesaw wanting to know what happened to the waldo link, and is the patient all right."**_

_She smiled grimly. "Tell her that he's fine, and that she's off the case. Piggot, out."_

"_**Ma'am."**__ The comm went quiet._

_The Director turned to the Heberts and their guest. "If you want to wait for him to wake up, be my guest. But it may be a while. Myself, I have work to do." Turning, she walked off toward the elevators._

_Michael Allen was out of danger. But it still left the question of what to do about him._

_She'd have to face that, sooner or later._

_It could wait._

_But not too long._

=/=/=

I gradually swam back to consciousness.

I'd been under anaesthesia before, but it was a long time ago. I had no baseline with which to compare this awakening.

It wasn't overly pleasant, but nor was it agonising. There was a steady pain at the side of my neck, which my befuddled brain soon deciphered. _Oh yeah. Surgery._

My eyes opened slowly, with a little difficulty, and I swallowed. Or tried to. _Oh yeah. Cotton mouth. That's one of the not-fun bits about being involuntarily asleep._

"He's awake," I heard someone say. My brain slotted pieces together – _adolescent, teenage, female – _and came up with a name. _Amy. _A blurry figure moved into my line of sight.

"Shut your eyes," she murmured; obediently, I did so. Something cool and damp ran across my eyes, and when I re-opened them, they weren't nearly as sticky, or blurry.

"Mouth," she ordered next; I opened my mouth. A straw was inserted; I sucked on it, and got cool water. It soaked into my parched tissues, so I sucked some more, and let it trickle down my throat. Heaven.

"Don't drink too much," she cautioned me, removing the straw and putting her hand on my forehead. "How do you feel?"

I blinked up at her. She was still wearing the same clothes I had last seen her in, and she didn't look overly tired, so … that meant … dammit, brain was still half out of it.

"You didn't heal me, did you?" I asked, and could have immediately bitten my tongue.

Her expression turned a little hurt. "No," she told me. "You said not to." _Though I could have, easily,_ she didn't say out loud.

I looked around. The décor gave it away; I was still in the PRT base, probably in the infirmary proper.

"Help me sit up?" I asked. "Please?"

With the assistance of a sickbay attendant, she helped me to a sitting position. My brain cleared a little more, and I squinted at my bare wrist, then at where my watch sat, on the bedside table. "Dammit," I muttered. When I've just woken up, I usually need my reading glasses to make sense of where the hands are. "What time is it?"

"Half past nine at night," she informed me tartly. "You really should stay in bed. You were just operated on; you're still weak."

I nodded. "I probably should, yeah. But I got places to be." I paused. "Still Friday, yes?"

She nodded. "It is. Riley – Bonesaw – finished operating on you an hour ago. Dragon is inbound with another remote suit, to reclaim the surgical waldos."

I blinked. "Okay. Um … what happened to the first unit?"

She grimaced. "The bomb went unstable just as they were removing it. Dragon shielded you from the blast, but the suit was destroyed."

I felt a chill. "Wow. Okay. Remind me to thank her."

Her tone was somewhere near Arctic. "I will."

I sighed. "Amy."

She looked at me. "Yes?" The tone of her voice had not altered.

"I'm sorry."

A blink. "What?"

"I said, I'm sorry. For hurting your feelings. You're still upset about me refusing your healing, aren't you?"

She compressed her lips, turned her head away. "It doesn't matter."

This was, of course, girl code for 'it matters a lot'.

I spoke clearly and sincerely. "Amy. Really. I'm sorry. I know exactly what your powers can do. I know you could have healed me, once the bomb was out, so cleanly that I would never have known the difference. I _know_ this, and under ordinary circumstances, I would not have hesitated to allow you to do this."

She glanced around at me briefly. "Ordinary circumstances?"

I shrugged. "Ones in which you were not undergoing therapy. Right now, your emotions are in flux. Letting yourself worry about who to heal and who not to heal, that's a whole level of complication that your head does not need. You need to be able to concentrate entirely upon sorting out the issues that have been building up for the last ten years, and what's happening around you right now, without adding more things to worry about."

Slowly, she turned to face me. I waited. Her expression was vulnerable. "Do you really mean that?"

I nodded, carefully. "Yes. Totally. I appreciate the concern, I really do. And if it came down to you specifically being the only person able to save my life, if there was _no other way_, then hell yes, absolutely, I would ask. But it wasn't like that. And right now, your mental health is more important than my physical health."

She blinked. "You're serious."

I nodded, and regretted it; my neck hurt. "Totally. One of the things I am dedicated to is ensuring your well-being, even at the expense of my own."

She sat, apparently without noticing, in the chair that was placed beside the bed. "I … I don't know what to say about that."

"Take it at face value," I suggested. "It's true, after all." I turned my head, wincing at the pain in the side of my neck, saw the IV lines leading into my wrist. "Wow, they found a vein. Normally it takes them three tries and a search party."

"Bonesaw did it," Amy explained, her expression becoming more animated. "Before they shut off the connection."

I blinked. "Shut it off? Why?"

She shrugged. "The operation was over. She had done something to fix the damage done to your tissues -"

I held up a finger. "Damage?"

"They froze the bomb with liquid nitrogen before they pulled it."

I made a mental note to request the footage of this incident. It would make an _awesome_ talking point at parties. "Okay, froze the bomb, pulled it, Dragon shielded me, it went boom. So then Riley operated on me … and they shut her out of the loop?"

Amy frowned. "It was Director Piggot's decision. You were out of danger. She didn't want Bonesaw using the waldos to do something she wasn't supposed to."

I tried to shake my head, gave it up as a bad idea. It hurt worse than nodding. "Okay, can we call her Riley, please?" I asked.

Amy frowned. "What's the difference?"

"Much more than the difference between Amy Dallon – or Amelia Claire Lavere – and Panacea," I explained. "Bonesaw is the villain who murdered her way across America at the side of Jack Slash. Riley is the little girl who was broken psychologically six years ago, who staged a comeback just in time to save my life. They are not the same person. Bonesaw is the persona she adopted out of self-preservation. Riley is the real deal. Calling her one name or the other reinforces that persona. Okay?"

"Uh, okay, sure," she agreed. "Once, uh, Riley was done, the Director switched her out of the loop. We moved you to the sickbay, and I've been keeping an eye on you ever since."

"Taylor and Danny?" I asked.

"Oh, they're just outside. I'll tell them you're awake."

"I'll tell them myself," I corrected her. "Help me get up."

She shook her head disapprovingly. "If you hurt yourself, I'm going to make you ask pretty-please for help before I heal you." I was almost sure she was joking.

Almost.

=/=/=

_Riley sat in her cell, sourly eyeing the unresponsive waldo controls. "Bitch," she muttered. She meant Piggot, of course. "I operated in good faith, and what do I get? Distrust and fucking ingratitude."_

_She had finished closing up the wound in Mike's neck and inserted the drip needles with ease. But just as she had begun checking his vital signs, the goggles went dark and the controls went inactive. At first she had thought that there was a malfunction somewhere, and she had called to the guards over the cell intercom to let the people upstairs know about it. But they had blandly informed her that her services were no longer required, by order of Director Piggot._

_Morosely, she stared at_ _the floor of the cell. She had been riding the high of a risky but successful operation, and then it had all been taken away from her. Bitterness burned through her. Served her right for trusting them to play straight. Just a little concession for what she had done, was all she asked. She hadn't even gotten the pat on the back that had been promised her by Mike._

_**Last time I do anything for anyone ...**_

=/=/=

"Should you really be up?" asked Danny doubtfully.

"Probably not," I agreed cheerfully, "but hey, I've made a practice this last week of doing things I really shouldn't, so why break the habit now?"

Doing up my belt, I sat down on the chair and reached for my boots. As I bent over, my head swam. "Wooo," I murmured dizzily.

Danny supported me by the shoulder. "You should really be back in bed."

"I'll be good," I insisted. "I'm feeling stronger already. I'd have trouble fighting off a determined kitten right now, but that's still better than I was doing five minutes ago."

On the second try, I got my boots, and put them on. Carefully I stood up, trying to work past the feeling of light-headedness. "Bloody hell," I muttered. "How much blood did I lose?"

Amy pulled the curtain aside. "Enough to put an ordinary man on his ass," she told me disapprovingly. "But you've got so much body mass -"

I grinned. "You _can_ say 'fat', you know," I told her.

She wrinkled her nose. "If you say so. In any case, you're big enough that you'll be weak for a while but not incapacitated. I would strongly suggest rehydration and a good meal. Two good meals."

I tilted my head, carefully. "Wouldn't say no to that." Holding up my wrist, where I was still tethered to the IV stand, I indicated the needles. "Can we take these out yet?"

"That depends," she commented. "That one is putting saline into you, to combat the loss of blood. The other one's a painkiller, for your neck."

Involuntarily, I touched the bandage on the side of my neck. Every time I moved my head in any way, my neck hurt. And that was _with_ painkillers. "Maybe we should leave them in for the time being."

Amy smiled for the first time. _"Good_ idea."

"What's a good idea?" The curtain was pulled all the way aside, and Director Piggot stepped through. She stared at me. "Mr Allen. You're not supposed to be up."

I shrugged, carefully. "People keep telling me that. But I have places to be and people to talk to."

She looked at me suspiciously. "Such as?"

I told her.

She shook her head. _"Bad_ idea."

=/=/=

_The cell door opened. She didn't bother looking around. It was probably just another guard, checking on her …_

"_**Riley."**_

_Her head whipped around and she stared at the heavy-set man, leaning on an IV stand. Beside him stood Panacea, in civilian clothes, as well as two people she didn't know – a teenage girl and and older man – and Director Piggot herself._

"_What the hell?" she blurted. "You aren't supposed to be up, you stupid idiot. I just pulled a bomb out of your goddamn neck."_

"_**Yeah, so I heard,"**__ he agreed. __**"I came down to say thanks. I really appreciate it. You went above and beyond."**_

_She shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable at the praise, knowing what the woman in black had told her about the man before her. "Yeah, well, Bakuda's a bitch." Bitterness prompted her to go on. "And your fucking Director's not much better."_

"_**Right on the first case, but on the second, let's just go with 'cautious' for the time being,"**__ Mike allowed, glancing back to the fuming face of Director Piggot._

"_**I told you this was a bad idea -"**__ snapped Piggot._

" _**\- you did, yes,"**__ agreed Mike. __**"But it's something I have to do."**__ He looked at Riley. __**"I have to make this right."**_

"_**Make what right?"**__ asked Panacea._

"_**When the Director had them pull the plug, she did to Riley what you thought I did to you,"**__ he explained, a little obliquely. It seemed to make sense to Panacea, though; she looked at Riley with a different expression._

_Riley looked through the perspex at them. "So what are you gonna do?" she asked. "Say you're sorry and walk away?"_

_Mike appeared to consider that, then he turned to the Director. __**"Can you get me in there?"**__ he asked._

_Piggot shook her head vehemently. __**"Hell **_**no**_**!"**__ she exclaimed. __**"Let you in there with that mass murderer? Do you have any idea exactly how dangerous she is?"**_

_Mike nodded. __**"Actually, yes I do. Probably more than you do. But let's look at it this way. She just saved my life. Why would she turn around and kill me now?"**_

_The Director was adamant. __**"She doesn't **_**need**_** a reason. She could just decide to do it, out of the blue. And even if I sent guards in there with you, that still doesn't guarantee you'd be protected."**_

"_**Director."**__ Mike's voice was flat. __**"Remember, outside the school, when I said I knew I wouldn't be killed when I went in there? I knew it then and I know it now. Riley won't hurt me."**_

"_**You came out of there with a bomb in your neck,"**__ she retorted. __**"You could come out of that cell with three different pathogens in your blood."**_

"_**True."**__ Mike looked at Panacea. __**"You figure you can counter anything she might put in me?"**_

_Panacea snorted. __**"In my sleep."**__ She glanced toward Riley. __**"You think she will?"**_

_Mike shook his head slightly. __**"Nope."**__ He also glanced toward Riley. __**"I come in there, you gonna do anything nasty to me?"**_

_Riley shook her head. "But __**why**__ are you coming in here?"_

"_**I told you. I have to make things right."**_

=/=/=

Director Piggot shook her head. "I'm telling you, this is a bad idea."

I grimaced. "I don't want to go against you, I really don't. But … tell you what. I've been considering this for a while. I'm going to be talking to some people tonight about saving the world. You let me go in that cell, I'll invite you along. You've pretty well earned it anyway."

She stared at me. "You're serious."

I nodded very cautiously. "Yes. I know you really want to learn some more about what I know; well, here's your chance."

Her reply was immediate. "Will I find out how you know it?"

I rubbed my beard, thinking. "Not the whole story, but … some of it, sure."

She looked at me and then at the cell. "And you're absolutely certain that you will leave that cell unscathed."

"As certain as I can be of anything in this world," I assured her.

A grimace pulled at the corner of her mouth. "I hate being pushed into a corner," she growled.

I spread my hands, in lieu of shrugging. "I could just walk away," I offered. "I don't want to, but I could."

"No." She shook her head. "No, damn you." Turning to the guard, she told him, "Let him in the cell."

=/=/=

I stood alone in the small area before the perspex sheet. Behind me, the heavy door was securely closed. The perspex sheet split down the middle, moved aside. Behind it, the bars opened just as easily. I stepped through. The perspex sheet, the bars, closed behind me. I was locked in.

Riley and I faced each other, just a couple of yards apart.

"Okay," she ventured quietly. "What now? What can you say that you couldn't say out there?"

I moved over to the bench at the side of the cell, sat down on it, careful not to tangle the IV lines. "For a start, sorry for the way you've been treated." I patted the bench beside me. "Sit down, kiddo. Let's talk."

Cautiously, she sat. "Talk? What about?"

I shrugged, one-shouldered. "Anything you want to talk about. I'd like to say thank you, one more time." I raised an eyebrow. "And I'm curious about what she said."

"She?" asked Riley innocently.

I grinned. "Yeah. _Her."_ We both knew exactly who I was talking about.

=/=/=

_'Who the hell is he talking about?"_

_The guard took one look at Piggot's angry face. "Uh, no idea, ma'am."_

"_Someone's been in there. Someone's been in communication with Bonesaw. Find out who. I want to know yesterday!"_

"_On it, ma'am!" The guard began checking back through the computer logs._

=/=/=

"Oh, uh, she told me about what you've been doing. What you've been trying to do. How you're helping people and saving the world." She paused, as if trying to work this next bit out. "And how you're doing it without any powers." Looking up at me, she added, "Is that true? No powers?"

"Not a one," I assured her. "What you see is what you get."

She tilted her head at me. "You know, I could give you some improvements. If this is not unusual for you, then maybe you could do with some bone strengthening, maybe replace some of that extra weight with muscle. If you're going to keep doing this sort of thing, I mean."

"Hm." I thought about it for a moment. "Transhumanism for the win, huh?"

"Sure," Riley told me. "It doesn't have to be nasty shit like I put in me. Purely defensive stuff. Make it harder for people to hurt you."

"Tempting," I commented. "Very tempting. And down the track, I may just take you up on it. But right now, I don't know if I could talk the Director into it."

She wrinkled her nose. "She hates me. Hates all capes."

"Yeah well, she had a bad experience, once upon a time." I heaved myself to my feet. "Well, thanks for the talk. And thanks for, you know, the life-saving surgery."

She shrugged it off. "It wasn't a problem. Dragon's waldos were world-class. They did all the work; I just did the driving."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not what I was told. Anyway, thanks. Hug before I go?"

She stared at me, wide-eyed. "You'd trust me that far?"

I nodded. "You realise I'm going to be disinfected to a fare-thee-well as soon as I leave here. But yes, I personally do trust you that far."

=/=/=

"_Holy shit," murmured Taylor to Amy. "I just figured it out."_

"_Figured what out?" asked Amy, staring intently at the screen._

"_He's doing the same thing he's done with me and you."_

_Amy glanced at her quickly, then back at the screen. "What do you mean?"_

"_He's helping her. Saving her. Giving her a second chance."_

_Amy glanced at Taylor again, then stared back at the screen once more. Her jaw slowly dropped._

"_Holy shit. He is too."_

=/=/=

Riley let me hug her; she was slender and petite, but I thought I felt things that were not bones under her skin. After a few moments, I felt her arms creep around me. She leaned into me and let me hold her close.

"I haven't been hugged in _so long," _she murmured into my chest.

"Hey," I told her. "It's all good."

We moved apart. She sniffled slightly. Her eyes dared me to make something of it. I said nothing.

"So," she observed at last. "What happens now?"

"Well, I go out and get disinfected, and then go on about my business," I told her. "You get moved to a slightly nicer cell, if Director Piggot's got anything like a heart, and maybe get given reading material. I'll come visit when I can." I paused. "Also, quick question. Would you like to be in on saving the world?"

She stared at me. "I … what?"

"Saving the world," I repeated. "It's a work in progress at the moment, but I'd like to have as many good people on side early on as I can. Would you like to be in on it?"

I had obviously just taken her utterly by surprise. She could not seem to formulate an adequate response. "I … I don't know."

"Think about it," I suggested. "I'll be back sometime." Turning, I rapped on the perspex sheet. It opened, and I left the cell.

=/=/=

_Emily Piggot glowered at Michael Allen as he pulled his T-shirt on again. "I should arrest you right now," she growled._

"_I'm sure you've got your reasons," he replied agreeably._

"_You made me look bad in front of my men, and in front of the Heberts," she snapped. "Plus, someone got in to talk to Bonesaw, and you didn't tell me about it!"_

_He sighed. "Riley."_

"_What?"_

_His voice was patient. "Her name is Riley."_

_Hers was not. "Is there a difference?"_

_He raised both his eyebrows. "__**Yes.**__" He didn't elaborate farther._

_She scowled. "Well, be that as it may. Someone got in. You knew about it. You didn't warn me."_

_He nodded, carefully. "That 'someone' is the person who convinced Riley to operate."_

_Her voice was hard and flat. "How did she get in and out without anyone knowing? Who is she? Where is she now?"_

"_Director." He waited till he had her attention. "I will tell you this, and only this. It's the same person who took Coil from the van, last night. I will not tell you who she is, or where. Because knowing who she is would do you no good at all, and potentially a great deal of harm, and I __**can't**__ tell you where she is. Because I do not know."_

_She shook her head. "I should arrest you. I really should."_

"_It's your option," he told her. "But I do have to do this thing tonight. And don't forget, you're invited."_

"_Is this about Cauldron?" she asked, greatly daring._

_To her immense satisfaction, she saw that she had jolted him. "You know the name." It wasn't a question._

"_I do. And I know other things. So don't play the all-knowing Thinker with me. I want answers."_

_He gave her a careful appraisal. "You'll get them. Soon. In the meantime, do not say that name too loudly, nor any of the other ones that you may have heard. They will draw very unfriendly attention."_

_His tone was absolutely matter-of-fact. He wasn't threatening her, she realised. The words were phrased as a friendly warning; she chose to treat them as such._

"_So when and where is this meeting?"_

_He thought for a moment. "My place. More or less as soon as I get home."_

"_You're very sure of that."_

_A one-shouldered shrug. "There's a precog involved. When I get there is when they'll start arriving."_

_She gave him a calculating look. "So who else is invited?"_

"_Who else have you told about Cauldron?"_

"_Maybe one or two people," she hedged._

_He gave her a direct look. "Well, bring one or two people. So long as you believe they can keep their mouths shut."_

"_And if they can't?" she asked warily._

"_They will," he assured her. "Or they won't get to attend the meeting."_

"_And who are the other people attending the meeting?" She knew, or thought she knew, but she wanted to see if he would let anything slip._

_He grinned, as if hugely amused by a joke. "Oh, you'll find out."_

_Which was, to her mind, as good as a signed affidavit._

=/=/=

I had thought long and hard about bringing Taylor in on this. She would, if my personal theories had any bearing on reality, be incredibly useful even if she wasn't needed to become Khepri. But if I had her come along, then that would leave Amy wondering why she wasn't in on whatever I had Taylor doing. The last thing I needed was to have Amy wonder once more about whether I trusted her.

I did, of course. I would have had no qualms about bringing her into the inner circle of what I was privately calling the Saving the World Committee. But that in itself would dump another load of stress on her mind, right at the time when I was doing my best to ensure that she was _free_ of stress.

So. No Amy. Which meant no Taylor.

I'd fill them in both later, of course. Just not right at the moment.

=/=/=

Director Piggot and I exited the decontamination station; I still smelled of whatever they had used to take the top layer of my skin clean off. Amy had also checked me out, of course, and had found nothing. But the PRT had their regulations, and so I had to be manually disinfected. The dressing had been removed and destroyed, and a new one put in its place. Somewhere along the line, I had lost the IV stand, but then, I was learning to live without it.

Taylor and Danny moved forward to greet me; I went to fist-bump Taylor, then staggered back a step as she grabbed me in a fierce hug.

"Don't you _ever_ do something like that again!" she demanded.

"Like what?" I asked. "Get a bomb put in my neck, capture a supervillain, get the bomb taken out by another supervillain, or visit said supervillain in her cell?"

"Any of it! All of it!" she snapped, letting go and standing back so that I could get the full wattage of her angry glare. "You should leave the heroics to the people _with_ powers!"

I shrugged carefully. "It seemed to be the thing to do at the time?"

She rolled her eyes. "Dad, tell him!"

Danny stepped forward and clasped my hand. "I'm glad you're alive. So is Taylor. She just has trouble expressing things like that when she's upset."

I shook his hand. "So am I. Trust me on this."

He chuckled and slapped me on the shoulder. I still wasn't feeling too great, and my knees nearly buckled. "You'll do, Mike. You'll do."

Looking past him, I saw Amy standing there, slightly withdrawn. I moved over to her. "Hey, kiddo. What's up?"

"Bonesaw killed people," she stated. "Lots of people."

I nodded. "That's true."

"And you're trying to help her, to give her a second chance."

I gave her another nod, this one more respectful. "Right again. Nicely picked."

"It was Taylor who realised it," she admitted. "What I want to know is … you helped Taylor, even though she's only just starting. You helped me, even though nothing really bad's happened to me, yet. And you're helping her. Riley. Is there some point at which you _don't_ help people?"

I stopped and considered that one. "If I know they can be helped," I decided, "I help them. If I think they can be helped, I'll help 'em if I get the chance. If I don't think they can be helped … " I gestured, a throwaway motion. "Jack Slash would never have accepted a genuine offer of help. Eidolon killed him on sight because I said so."

I paused; everyone, from Director Piggot on down, was staring at me.

"Eidolon … killed the Nine … on _your_ say-so?" choked out Danny.

I spread my hands. "What? I needed them gone, and he offered. Otherwise, Jack Slash would have triggered the apocalypse in two years' time."

Danny was shaking his head. "You know, every now and again, I get to thinking you're just a regular guy, caught up in strange happenings. And then you go and say something like that."

I grinned at him. "I _am_ a regular guy."

He snorted. "As if. Listen, it might not be a school night, but I've got to get the kids home before it gets too late. We'll see you later."

"Count on it," I agreed. I bumped fists with Taylor and then Amy, and shook hands with Danny one more time. Director Piggot and I walked them to the elevator, and watched as the multi-leaved doors closed behind them.

I turned to her. "Can I get a lift home?"

She smiled. "I'm sure we can accommodate you."

I snapped my fingers. "But before we do … I need to make a phone call."

=/=/=

_Gladys Knott sat at her personal computer, grading papers. Every time she stopped, the memories of the last time she had seen Michael Allen rose before her. Sitting on the steps, with that horrible bloodstain on the side of his neck, PRT troops forbidding anyone to come close._

_She didn't know whether he was alive or dead; they had taken him away in one of their trucks. He had not looked at all well._

_Tears threatened to roll down her cheeks. She blew her nose, typed a few caustic comments, and awarded a C- grade to the paper she was working on. Then she pulled up the next one._

_The phone rang, a welcome distraction. She picked it up._

"_Hello, Gladys Knott speaking."_

"_**Gladys, hi, it's me."**_

_For the longest moment, she had no idea who was speaking. And then the world spun around her. She felt as though she was falling, even though she was still firmly seated in the chair._

" … _Michael?"_

"_**That's me, good looking,"**__ he replied cheerfully. __**"How you doing? Hope you weren't too upset this afternoon."**_

"_Upset? You listen to me, Michael Allen. It's not your job to confront supervillains -"_

"_**Gladys."**_

" _\- and to just throw yourself willy-nilly into danger like that - "_

"_**Gladys."**_

" _\- it's totally irresponsible, and you could have gotten yourself badly hurt or killed -"_

"_**Gladys."**_

_She paused. "What?"_

"_**I'm **_**fine**_**,"**__ he told her. __**"A little bit shaken up, but I'm good. They've been asking me questions at the PRT building, but I'm going home right now. I'd ask you over, but there's a few things I need to sort out."**_

"_Does this have anything to do with what we talked about last night?"_

_He paused. __**"Well, yes,"**__ he admitted._

"_Will you be in danger?"_

"_**I don't think so. There's no reason for it."**_

_She sighed. "Very well. Go home. Be safe."_

"_**Thanks. I'll see you later."**_

"_Yes. And thank you for the call, Michael. I feel much better now."_

"_**Sorry I didn't call earlier. I was kind of busy."**_

_She smiled. "That's all right. I will see you later."_

"_**Saturday."**_

"_Saturday."_

_She hung up, smiling, and gave the next paper a glowing A+._

=/=/=

Director Piggot's two invitees were, predictably, Armsmaster and Miss Militia. As they were going undercover, Armsmaster was without his trademark armour, although he wore a pair of glasses with an elaborate earpiece, and carried a suspiciously long, cylindrical case. Miss Militia, of course, was never unarmed.

Armsmaster – he had curtly told me to call him Colin – did the driving. He was efficient and skilled behind the wheel, handling the vehicle like an extension of his body. I would have been vastly unsurprised to find that he had done defensive driving courses.

Director Piggot sat in the front seat, while I shared the back with Hannah. This suited me; of the three, I got along best with her.

We chatted amiably and aimlessly as we drove, although I had no doubt that Colin's earpiece and glasses were giving him a blow-by-blow account of what lies and truths we were telling.

"So I've got to ask, is the Fugly Bob's Challenger really that big?" I asked when we were almost there. "I've heard about it, but hearing and seeing are two different things."

Hannah nodded. "Oh, yes. I've never tried one myself, but I've eaten at Fugly Bobs. It's just … enormous."

"That thing would clog your arteries before you finished it," Colin put in from the front seat.

"Oh god, I have no intention of even trying to eat one," I assured them. "I was just curious, is all."

Hannah grinned. "The man who tried one when I was there? He finished about three-quarters of his, then simply gave up. And he was bigger than you."

"Wow. Just wow."

"I hate to break this up," Colin commented, "but is this the right street?"

I glanced out the window. "Yeah, anywhere around here."

Colin pulled over, parking inconspicuously in a side street. We got out and locked the car, and I led the way toward my apartment complex.

Everything looked perfectly normal as I opened my front door. Which was why I was caught rather by surprise when the lights came on, and I found myself looking at a man in a business suit, sitting on my sofa. Flanking him were a man and a woman, also immaculately dressed.

=/=/=

Director Piggot stared at the three strangers. "You're not -" She caught herself, making me wonder momentarily what she had been about to say. She turned to me. "Are these the people you were going to have the meeting with?"

I shook my head, wincing at the pain from the incautious movement. "No. Most definitely not." Taking a step forward, I was about to speak when the man on the sofa rose to his feet.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am -"

"_Kaiser."_

The voice was Armsmaster's; it was echoed by a slight _thump_ as he shook the cylindrical case off of his halberd, and the _click-click-click_ as it unfolded and extended to its full length.

At the same time, Miss Militia suddenly held a large and dangerous-looking machine-gun. It was trained full on the man Colin had identified as Kaiser. I figured the other two must be Night and Fog; that was how he had gotten in.

I had to hand it to Kaiser; even faced with two deadly weapons – three; I realised that Director Piggot had drawn a pistol from a previously unsuspected shoulder holster and also had it trained on the crime boss – he kept his cool.

Even as the other two members of his group took half a step forward, he gestured them back.

"Peace, peace," he chuckled, his voice well modulated to embody friendliness and a lack of ill intent. "I am only here to speak with the man called Security. Michael Allen."

I found my voice with an effort. "Breaking and entering, huh? Ever heard of a handy device called a telephone? Saves on ugly little scenes like this."

He nodded, conceding the point. "It does, yes. But nor can you take the measure of a man over the telephone, Mr Allen. You cannot look him in the eye, gauge his worth."

His every word was reasonable, understandable, rational. The bastard had charisma to spare; even now, he had the gathering half under control, and he'd only spoken a couple dozen words.

I took a step forward, mindful to not block Miss Militia's line of fire. "Okay, let's get this absolutely clear, Anders. I don't like you. I don't like the cause you profess to believe in. I will never work for you." Folding my arms, I went on. "Now, were there any other questions?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if acknowledging a palpable hit. "Just a few. Why did you warn my wife of the impending event, and why did you not warn me?"

"I'll answer those in reverse order," I told him. "I just said, I don't like you. In fact, I despise the whole white-supremacist movement, and I don't know who's worse; the morons who actually believe that a lack of melanin is the true measure of a man, or the hypocrites who encourage that belief in others, just so they can capitalise on the morons. So I don't give a flying fuck if the entire Empire Eighty-Eight goes gurgling down the plughole. I really don't."

His face had darkened slightly, but he kept his outward cool. "But you did not unmask us yourself?"

I wanted to laugh in his face, but I restrained myself. "Fuck no. I could have, but that breaks the unwritten rules. I even tried to stop it from happening. Not from any concern for you personally, but for Kayden's sake."

"What is my wife to you?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," I told him honestly. "We've never met. But I know a great deal about her. I know that what racist beliefs she once had, she got from you, but she doesn't live by them any more. I also know that she did love you once upon a time, and she had a crush on you before that, when you played basketball in high school. But you broke that love, destroyed it, when you played on it for your own ends. She doesn't love you; all she wants to do is make a good life for Aster. And I'd rather she had that chance. So I warned her, on the off-chance I would not be able to stop the infodump from going out. And as it happened ..." I spread my hands. "I was right to do so."

He frowned. "So you did warn her for the sake of the children."

"Exactly and precisely. Personally, I don't care what happens to you once people find out who you really are, but pulling that shit on kids is low. Also, if Kayden hadn't been warned, they would have taken Aster, and that would have meant a lot of bloodshed. I'd rather avoid that up front."

He paused, changing tack. "I understand that it was Coil who released the information. If you can tell me where to find _him ..."_ The tone of his voice left little to the imagination.

Carefully, I shook my head. "Nope."

A frown. "Mr Allen, if it's a matter of money … "

I shook my head again. "I said no. But I will assure you of this. Right now, he's alive, and he's in a very bad place. One he's not getting out of."

His expression was thoughtful. "Well, all the same I think -"

"Mr Anders," I interrupted, "think about this. Leviathan was due to hit Brockton Bay in one month. During the course of the subsequent battle, the monster would have killed you, Menja and Krieg, and trapped Alabaster in a time bubble. I've taken steps that may just have averted the whole thing; as such, in a very real way, you owe me your life."

His head snapped up and he stared at me. "You can't be serious -" he began.

"I don't care whether you think I am or not, Mr Anders," I interrupted. "I would like you to leave."

"I had not finished speaking with you, Mr Allen -"

"No, but I've finished speaking with you. Take Geoff and Dorothy and leave my home, and never return. You will not, under any circumstances, be welcome here. Ever."

He tried to stare me down. I was scared, but I was also pissed. It was due to this man's actions that I had spent a really unpleasant afternoon with a bomb in my neck. "Go. Away."

His lips tightened. "Very well. We're going. But you really do need to think about talking to me."

"Thought about it. Decided against it. Go. Now."

We stood aside as Kaiser and his minions filed out the door; I closed it and locked it.

Everyone relaxed slightly; Armsmaster folded down his halberd once more.

"Tell me," asked Director Piggot in a slightly strained tone of voice. "Do you speak to all capes you encounter in your home in that tone of voice?"

I glanced at her. "Usually?" I asked. "Yeah."

She shook her head. "I wonder that you're still alive."

My grin held little humour. "I lead a charmed life."

Colin glanced around at me; my flippant remark must have registered as 'true' to him, much to his surprise. He was about to speak when something else caught his attention. Caught everyone's attention.

Entirely without fuss, a Door was opening in the living room wall.

=/=/=

"_Why did you let him speak to you like that?" asked Geoff as they exited the apartment complex. "Even if he's done you a good turn, that was blatant disrespect."_

"_You do not pay much attention to the subtleties, do you?" asked Max. "I studied his posture. He was not a man who was terrified for his life, or even bluffing. He believed what he was saying, even to the part of Leviathan hitting Brockton Bay in four weeks."_

"_So what?" asked Dorothy._

"_So he knows more than the best precogs have been able to foresee, and he casually told us that he __**changed**__ matters. Altered things so that I will no longer die at the hands of Leviathan."_

_Geoff shrugged. "He could have been lying."_

"_Possibly. Although I do not believe it. I know how to get people to do what I want, and part of that involves knowing if they are trying to deceive me." He paused. "Also, if you had bothered to watch the news this afternoon, you would have found out that Bakuda attacked the school that he works at. She took a girl hostage, and he had to go in alone. He __**captured**__ her, and Oni Lee hasn't been seen since."_

_Geoff and Dorothy looked at each other, then at Max. "Which means …?" asked Geoff._

"_Which means," snapped Kaiser, "that until we know more about our Mr Allen, and why he had Director Piggot and two members of the Protectorate visiting, we don't go near him. Is that understood?"_

_Night and Fog nodded simultaneously._

"_Good," he growled. "Let's go."_

=/=/=

The weapons came out again, almost before I could blink. When Contessa emerged from the portal, she ignored them and stepped aside.

"Hey," I protested. "Friendly."

Armsmaster put up his halberd; Miss Militia turned her machine-gun into something small and innocuous. Director Piggot was still holstering her pistol when the other two entered the room.

=/=/=

Eidolon and Alexandria had obviously not been expecting guests; Contessa, equally obviously, knew all about it. _Because Contessa. Right._

Alexandria stopped dead; Eidolon, behind her, almost bumped into her. Behind him, the portal winked out.

Alexandria spoke first; her tones were freezing, and boded ill for _somebody._

"What," she hissed, "is going on here?"

"Contessa invited guests," I told her. "So I did too."

"Director Piggot? Armsmaster? _Miss Militia?"_

Eidolon shook his head. "Unacceptable!"

I moved around the table, fast. Eidolon didn't see me coming until I had him shoved against the wall. We were of a height, but I was heavier. "What's _unacceptable_ is that you refused to take therapy until I told Alexandria there exactly what was at stake. What the fuck were you _thinking?"_

There was frozen silence for a second. Alexandria's cool voice broke it. "Mr Allen, please let him go. He's admitted to his mistake and he's sorry."

It was about then that I realised that I had my hands bunched in the folds of his cloak and was half-lifting him from the floor; I let go and stepped back. "Sorry," I apologised. "I've had a rough afternoon."

"That's quite all right," Eidolon replied graciously, as if I had not just assaulted him. "We heard about it ourselves. Capturing Bakuda, that's quite a feat."

"Yeah, well," I grunted, feeling slightly foolish now. "Shall we get started?"

"I still have not heard why you saw fit to invite people to our meeting," insisted Alexandria. "The more people who know about it -"

"They already know," put in Contessa. She had seated herself, and was examining a cookie closely.

We all looked at her.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" asked Alexandria.

Contessa took a bite from the cookie. "They already know," she repeated. "Armsmaster bugged this place last week. They've listened to the recording of your last meeting here. So Mr Allen's decision to bring them along is actually a good thing."

I opened my mouth and closed it, then turned to Director Piggot. She avoided my gaze; Colin met it directly, challengingly.

"But -" began Eidolon, then stopped.

Alexandria stared at Contessa. "When we came through, I asked you if there was anything we needed to worry about. And you replied, 'nothing whatsoever'. You _lied_ to me."

"I did not," Contessa retorted without heat. "The presence of Director Piggot, Armsmaster and Miss Militia is a _good_ thing. The recording that makes their presence inevitable is thus also a good thing. Nothing to worry about, in other words."

"Why is it a good thing?" asked Eidolon stubbornly.

I took that question. "Because this 'saving the world' thing needs to stop being a Cauldron only thing. Seriously. How much headway have you guys made since you killed Eden? Exactly fuck and all. I've stopped three serious threats in one week, and that's only if you count the Endbringers as a single threat."

"_I_ stopped the Nine -" he began.

"Based on information I gave you. And only after I said to go ahead with it," I interrupted him. "So yeah, I'll claim at least an assist on that one. So anyway. To save the world, we're gonna need more than the Breakfast Club here."

Silence greeted my comment. Contessa let out a slight snort of amusement, which she muffled when I glanced at her.

" … _Breakfast_ Club?" enquired Colin carefully.

I waved it away. "Movie reference. Anyway. People we're gonna need on side. Every single person who can shape matter or form illusions. Every Brute who can land a hit and take one too. Healers. Movers. Blasters. Thinkers; specifically, Accord and Tattletale. Any other precogs we can get on board. Doormaker and the Clairvoyant. Leet. String Theory; or at least, access to her lab. Oh, and Dragon is an absolute necessity. In her full capacity. Also, Weaver, as a backup."

I looked over at Contessa. "You're gonna be losing Eden. Sorry."

"Wait," put in Colin. "Did you say 'Leet'? _That_ loser?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That 'loser' can build anything, once," I reminded him. _"Anything."_

He stopped, looking thoughtful. I nodded. "Yeah. Okay. We can add names to the list as we get to them. Now for the main course. What you've all been waiting for." I grinned, or at least, showed my teeth. "Welcome to Saving the World, one-oh-one."

=/=/=

"First off," I began, "I've got to explain to you a little bit about the bastard we're looking to kill. Some of you may know this already. Some may not."

I glanced over at where Director Piggot had taken a seat, alongside Colin and Hannah. "Just in case you were wondering, this is Scion we're talking about."

"Golden boy," Hannah replied, in tones of revelation. _"That's_ who you were talking about."

"Got it in one," I agreed.

"But he's a _hero!"_ Colin blurted.

I shook my head. "Nope. Just bored. Doing what a derelict hobo in London tells him to do."

Stunned silence. Contessa munched another cookie.

"So, Scion," I went on. "Real name Zion. At least, that's what he calls himself. He's not human. Never was. His race is … well, the best description I can come up with is 'giant multidimensional space whale'."

More silence, though Alexandria and Eidolon were nodding to themselves. Hannah was looking very thoughtful indeed, and I figured I knew why.

"But what does he want with Earth?" she asked, stealing a cookie for herself.

I nodded carefully. "Okay, short form? His race seeks energy. Long term, they're seeking a way to reverse entropy, to stave off the heat death of the universe. Long ago, they evolved a way to generate and store super-powers into what they call 'shards', which they can swap between each other. They travel, mainly in pairs, around the universe. They find a planet with sentient life, and they seed it with shards. These shards hide in pocket universes and attach to people; when those people undergo a trigger event, the attachment goes live, and the person has access to the power embodied in that shard." I paused. "You would call them 'agents'."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Colin objected. "And how do you know that they call them 'shards', anyway?"

I grinned. "Questions from the peanut gallery will be answered later. So, why am I saying it like it's a bad thing? Well, that's a question I _will_ answer now. See, they're looking to upgrade their shards, teach them new tricks and gimmicks. So they become beings like those on the world, and subtly foster conflict, so that people have to use their powers, and more people have trigger events. About three hundred years later, or so many generations, once enough shards have been improved, they harvest the lot, destroy the world for its energy, and go on to the next Petri dish, I mean, inhabited world."

Director Piggot broke the silence this time. "You're sure about this."

I nodded carefully. "Yes, ma'am. One hundred percent."

"So where do the Endbringers come into it?"

No-one was looking at Eidolon; he was looking at the table. I grinned again. "Well, see, we're gonna have to backtrack a bit here. Zion and his partner Eden – he's the Warrior, she's the Thinker – were approaching Earth when Eden had a bit of a close encounter with another entity. We call him Abbadon."

Alexandria looked up at this. "Who's 'we'?" she asked curiously.

"Me and some others," I answered obliquely. "So Eden and Abbadon have their swap meet – that's how they swap shards, basically bash against each other in passing – and then go on their way. So Eden's just picked up this great new shard that lets her model future events really, really closely. A path to victory, you might say. So she's modelling out the entire three hundred year span of their time on Earth, with everything plotted neatly, but she's picked up a bit more weight than she had intended, and she spent a little too long playing with this shard, and she kind of failed to carry out step one."

"Which was?" asked Colin, as it was apparent that I wanted someone to ask that question.

I grinned without humour. "Land safely."

Director Piggot, Colin and Hannah each winced. Contessa suddenly looked enlightened. _Yup, that's how you got your shard._

"Which, by the way," I added as an aside, "is why we call her Eden. Because now she's nothing but a big garden of flesh." I paused, waiting for comments, then went on. "Now, there was a shard she held which was designed to not be released into the wild, as it were. Its purpose was to create up to twenty super-weapons; sentient, hugely powerful, massively dangerous. These would sit on the borders between nations and foster even more conflict. But it sort of ended up in someone's hands without the proper control mechanism attached. So they're being driven by _subconscious_ impulse right now."

Hannah spoke up. "But you say that's dealt with."

I nodded, and looked directly at the cowled hero. "Yeah. Eidolon's taking therapy. I _hope._"

The cowled hero winced. "I swear to you, I am." He put his masked face in his hands. "Now will you _please_ get off the topic?"

"Sure, sure," I told him. "I'll drop it. Now. Eden's dead – due mainly to Contessa's efforts – and Zion's alone. But he has no purpose. He can barely interact with people. So he starts doing what he's told by a homeless bum called Kevin Norton. Unfortunately, he's going to get sick and tired of that in about fourteen to sixteen years, and start doing _bad_ things. Or, if Jack Slash was still around to be captured in two years, Jack starts monologuing, Zion hears him, and takes it to heart." I paused for effect. "Two billion people died, over about half a dozen Earths, before he was stopped. They called it Golden Morning."

"But he _was_ stopped," Alexandria observed.

"Yes."

"Who did it?"

I shook my head slightly. "Wrong question."

Colin frowned. "What's the right question?"

Alexandria beat me to the punch. "Ah. _How_ was it done?"

I showed my teeth. "With great fuckin' difficulty."

=/=/=

"You have to understand," I went on, waving a forkful of my microwaved meal, "that Zion is not what he appears to be. He's _multidimensional. _There's a whole planetoid worth of him out there. And he's got access to all the powers. _All _of them. So it's not a case of a one-hit kill. Also, he's not the sharpest spoon in the drawer, but he _does_ understand conflict. Fighting. Fall into a pattern, and he _will_ beat it. With me so far?" I took a bite, chewed and swallowed.

Nods around the table indicated assent.

"Therefore, you need a triple pronged attack. First; you need to hit him hard. Really hard. As hard as you can. As often as you can.. Movers will keep pulling his opponents away just before he can retaliate and take them off the board. Injured ones go to healers, to be shoved back into play as soon as they're good to go. This is going to piss him off. The second prong is emotional."

"Emotional?" asked Eidolon. "He doesn't really have emotions, does he?"

"Sure he does," I told him. "He's sad. He _radiates_ it. He's mourning his lost partner." I pointed at Contessa. "I know you've been making Case 53s to use as camouflage. You need to let him find Eden. And you need to destroy her. Violently. A nuke should be about right. But first, if you can animate that humanoid section, that would be perfect. She's awake, she moves, she opens her eyes … and then she blows up."

Hannah's eyes were wide. "That's _cruel,_" she murmured.

I nodded. "We need to hit him in the feels, as often as possible, as hard as possible. Blasters, close ranged attacks, dropping a mountain on him, time-freeze attacks, then just as he's getting a feel for the pattern, have a bunch of shapers show him her face in the clouds, in the water, in the rocks. He freezes for a second, then someone else hits him in the back of the neck at Mach fifteen." I held up a finger. "But here's what also needs to be planned. The images can start fairly crude, but toward the end, they have to be absolutely lifelike. They have to make him _think_ that it really could be her."

Colin frowned. "How do we do that?"

I shrugged slightly. "How about we recruit a 'loser' who can build _anything_ once? Because you can be sure he's never built a lifelike simulacrum of Zion's girlfriend."

Nods around the table. Piggot raised a finger. "All right, you've told us about the brute force and the emotional attacks. What's the third prong?"

I grinned. "We kick him up the arse."

Alexandria frowned. "Explain."

"He's multi-dimensional," I pointed out. "Which means that the majority of his body is in another dimension, safe from attack. Except that there's a cape in New York who can bypass that."

Everyone looked puzzled, then Alexandria's face cleared. "Flechette," she stated.

I nodded to her. "Exactly and precisely. She can put an effect on a weapon so that it hits all dimensions simultaneously. Ignores little things like armour and force fields. Even Zion's scared of her effect. Imagine if, say, Leet built a device which simulated her ability, and Dragon retro-engineered it?"

"Dragon -" began Director Piggot, then stopped.

" - is a Tinker," I confirmed. "Her trick is to copy any other Tinker's work."

Colin blinked. "That could be … interesting."

"Yup. Now. Zion would be watching for something like that, so you don't hit him with it until he's in a raging frenzy. Being hit from all sides, seeing the face of his dead partner everywhere, no-one's standing still long enough to be hit. You've got to overwhelm him. And _then_ you hit him with the Flechette effect so that you've got access through the visible body to the real body, and then hit the real body with the big guns."

I leaned back and laced my fingers across my stomach. "And _that,_ ladies and gentlemen, is how you kill a god."

=/=/=

"There are still issues that need to be worked out," Director Piggot stated carefully. "People going into combat against _Scion?_ They'd be terrified."

"Hmm," I commented. "You have a point. Now, if only you had someone who could do something like sing to stop them from being scared."

Colin looked at me almost accusingly. "Canary?"

I grinned. "Canary. Fit everyone with Endbringer arm bracers and she can sing them all to calm alertness."

Hannah frowned. "How are we going to coordinate attacks? The timing, the number of elements that will need to be calculated … "

I looked at Colin. "How's Dragon's multi-tasking going on these days?"

He blinked. "Oh. Right."

"Okay, all of this is well and good," Alexandria stated, "but what if he has some strategy, some power that brings us to a screeching halt before we even get out of the gate? How do we know when to attack so that it will _work?"_

I glanced at Contessa. "So, how's Coil doing these days?"

Piggot sat up. _"You're_ the one who took Coil?"

The black-clad woman nodded. "I am. He's doing well. I should have him properly conditioned in the next few days. He'll be able to help us begin to work out detailed simulations of how to attack Zion with greatest effect in just a few weeks."

The Director looked dangerous. "Am I to understand that he's -"

" - in exactly the same situation as he would have put Dinah Alcott in, if I hadn't acted," I cut in. "Only he's got it better than her. And he'll let us know when's the best time to take Zion on."

She subsided, looking unhappy. "I still don't like it."

"He actually lives longer this way," I pointed out. "Originally, he would have fallen afoul of some villains, and been shot in the head … hmm … late June."

She stared at me. "With his power … _how?"_

"Very _tricky_ villains," I amended.

Alexandria dusted her hands off. "Well, that seems to be that for this meeting. Unless you had more information for us, Mr Allen?"

"Actually, I had a question," Hannah stated, raising her hand slightly.

I nodded to her. "Sure."

"Don't take this the wrong way," she ventured, "but … what _are_ you?"

I blinked. "I'm sorry. I don't quite get your meaning."

She was looking somewhat embarrassed, but she forged on. "You're not a cape. What you know, what you've hinted at knowing, you're not from around here. So … how do you know what you know? Where are you from? What _are_ you?"

=/=/=

I couldn't help but smile; it spread across my face. I looked at her, and then at the face of each of the others. Each and every one of them, quite powerful. Even Emily Piggot, with the resources of the PRT to call on.

I had often wondered what I would say, in the unlikely event that I was asked this question. And now it had been asked.

"Well, then," I began, and cleared my throat. "Well then. If I told you the true facts, unadulterated, about my origins, you would either disbelieve utterly, be driven mad, or reach a new level of understanding of the universe. But I don't want to inflict that on you, so I'll give you the kids' version."

I paused, composing myself. I wanted to laugh; what I had to say next was absolutely true and utterly misleading.

"I'm from beyond your time and space," I told them. "I'm older than your universe. There are those like myself that like to look into it, observe the interesting goings-on, and occasionally insert puppet bodies to manipulate events to our liking."

Hannah frowned. "So … you're _not_ Abbadon, then," she concluded, sounding faintly disappointed.

I shook my head. "Oh, no. As far as I'm concerned, the entities and you all share the same space-time. I'm from outside all of that. As I was saying, we like inserting puppet bodies. People with backgrounds, who fit into the world. This body you're looking at? Prior to a week ago, Michael Allen _didn't exist_ in this space-time continuum. Then I created him, put him in the world, and the connections formed. Family, history, the lot. Everything that made him a real person. And _now_ he's existed for forty years."

Alexandria scowled. "So we're talking to a puppet, then."

I shook my head, carefully. "No. Puppets are normally unaware of their outside origins. Mike would have just done his thing, not being aware of the bigger picture. But something happened. And I ended up_as_ Michael Allen, not just making him dance to my tune."

Colin was frowning. I looked at him. "Got a question?"

"Yes. Why did you make yourself … so fat? So unfit? So … "

"Unheroic?" I filled in. "Because I wanted to. I _chose_ to." I looked around the table. "If I'd wanted to, I could have given the puppet – and ultimately, myself – a set of powers that would make Zion turn green with envy. I could have, before I even inserted the puppet, erased Zion from existence. If I felt like it. But I didn't. To me, this was … a hobby. A pastime. And if you make it too easy, it gets boring."

The silence was almost solid, it was so complete. Director Piggot broke it. "So … do you have those powers _now?_ To reshape reality?"

I frowned. "I don't think so. I made the puppet to be totally mundane, after all." I shrugged. "Hell, he won't even trigger for powers."

"What happens if you … if the puppet … dies?" asked Hannah quietly.

"Now that, I honestly don't know," I confessed. "It might be that I just snap back to being me. Or I might really die. Or … maybe I _can't_ die, not here. Or it might cause such a disruption that the universe ends. Not sure. Don't know if I want to find out."

She looked concerned. "So does that mean you're stuck here?"

I shrugged. "Once this little crisis is over, I might just wake up as me, one day. I'm not going to worry about it; I've got my hands full, saving the world."

=/=/=

The meeting broke up, shortly after. Piggot, Colin, Hannah and I watched as Contessa led the other two through the Door into Cauldron's headquarters. The portal closed behind them, and we turned to one another.

Director Piggot surprised me; she put out her hand. After a startled hesitation, I shook it.

"Uh … what was that for?" I asked her.

"For coming through with your promise. For telling me the truth. For letting me in on this," she told me.

"Meanwhile," I retorted in mildly accusing tones, "you've been bugging me since what, Sunday night?"

To her credit, she looked mildly abashed. "We had to know. You weren't telling."

I gave her a flat stare. "Please tell me you erased Monday night's tape."

She nodded at once. "There was nothing there we could use."

"Good to hear," I replied, so blandly that Hannah had to stop herself from giggling. "So, are you going to discontinue listening in on me? Or do I have to take up the bagpipes?"

"We'll take them down," Colin promised.

"Good," I agreed. "However, could I get a panic button? Just in case? My next visitor might not be as polite as Kaiser was."

Director Piggot nodded. "We can do that. Anything else?"

I couldn't think of anything. "Not at the moment, thanks."

"We'll be in touch if we need any more insight on how to save the world." To her credit, she managed to pull off the line without cracking a smile.

I nodded. "You know where to find me."

=/=/=

After they left, I prepared for bed. I really wanted to sit down and chat with Sveta, but I was thoroughly wrecked. It had been a long, long day.

I took off the dressing so that I could shower; the scar was distinct, but looked half-healed already. _Riley, you little champ._ It wasn't twinging as much as it had, earlier.

This wasn't to say that it _wasn't_ twinging. But it didn't keep me awake for more than thirty seconds.

* * *

End of Chapter Thirty


	31. Chapter 31

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One: Yet More Interludes

* * *

**Friday Night**

Hebert Household

"Dad?"

Danny Hebert looked up from the newspaper he was reading. Getting up from the sofa, he strolled into the kitchen, where Taylor and Amy were sitting at the table. They had exercise books and pens in front of them. Also on the table, he could not help but notice, were several spiders, including some black widows.

_My daughter controls bugs,_ he told himself. _I'm just going to have to get used to it._

"What's up, kiddo?" he asked.

Taylor gestured at Amy, who had another spider in her palm; she seemed to be concentrating on it. "Amy's trying to make a spider with really strong webbing, but we're kind of stuck on how to measure relative strength."

Danny thought about that for a moment. "Hm. Okay." He went to the cupboard and got out the kitchen scales, then back out into the living room for a stack of books. After a quick search, he located a ruler. The girls watched as he stacked the books beside the scales, with the ruler wedged into the stack and projecting over the scales. Placing a glass on the scales, he carefully adjusted the weight to read zero.

"Okay," he told them. "Get your spider to run a web from the ruler to the scales. Pour water into the glass to gradually increase the strain on the web. When it snaps, you have the breaking strain."

"Wow," Amy commented. "That's so simple, Mr Hebert."

"I used to do this sort of thing a lot when I was a kid," Danny explained, pulling up another chair. "Never got to do it with spider webbing, though. Give it a whirl; I want to see if this actually works."

"Sure," Taylor agreed. One of the spiders climbed on to her finger, and she placed it on the tip of the ruler. It spun webbing to the ruler, then descended by the line to the scales, and spun more webbing to anchor it there. Then it ran up and down the webbing line a couple of times, to reinforce it.

Carefully, Amy poured water into the glass while Taylor intently watched the webbing line. Danny watched it no less intently; when it snapped, they both jumped slightly, then grinned self-consciously.

"And we have our breaking strain," Danny observed.

Taylor noted the number down, then picked up the glass and poured the water back into the jug.

"Let's do a stronger one," urged Amy.

"Stronger?" asked Danny.

"Yeah," Taylor replied. "We've got a range of spiders with known web strengths. That way, when Amy makes one that's stronger, we can be sure about it."

Danny nodded. "That's the way to do it. Looks like you've got this well in hand. If you need anything else, just yell."

He strolled back into the living room as Taylor placed the glass back on the scales.

"Your dad's pretty cool," Amy commented to her, as the next spider went to work.

"Yeah, well, he's my dad," Taylor agreed with a grin. Putting an arm around Amy's shoulders, she gave the biokinetic a friendly squeeze. "You're pretty cool yourself."

"Says the girl who can make spiders dance the macarena on her dining table," retorted Amy with a grin.

"No, I can't," Taylor told her. "I don't know how to do the macarena."

Giggling, they got back to the important work of gauging the strength of spider silk.

=/=

PRT

No-one spoke on the way back to the car. Colin unlocked it, and they all got in. As he started the engine and set the vehicle in motion, Hannah cleared her throat. "Well, I -"

"Sh!" snapped Piggot. "We do not speak of this until we are back in a secure location. Until then, use your time to think of other questions that need answering, now that they are being answered."

"_Is_ there any such thing as a secure location, now that we know what we're really up against?" asked Colin, with a glance toward the roof of the car, and by extension the night sky beyond, wherever Scion might be in it.

It was a very good question. Emily hated that she did not know the answer.

"For the time being, we will assume that there is, and we will use all available means to keep our communications on the matter both obscure and secure," she decided.

Leaning forward, she switched on the radio. Soothing melodies filled the car; Emily heard none of them. Closing her eyes to aid in concentration, she thought back over the startling revelations of the evening, picking them apart, looking for flaws, omissions or even deliberately misleading information.

There were answers that she wanted, answers that had not been forthcoming from Michael Allen's impromptu presentation on how to save the world, and answers arising from questions raised by that same presentation.

No-one spoke as the car rolled on through the night.

=/=

Cauldron

Alexandria strode down the centre of the hallway, her footfalls almost heavy enough to crack the pristine white tiles. Her cape flared behind her, the black cloth seeming to swallow the light that fell into it. Anger vibrated in her every movement.

Eidolon and Contessa followed behind her, until they reached a meeting room. Then Alexandria turned on Contessa. "What the hell was that, back there?" she demanded.

"They needed to know," Contessa told her bluntly.

"Like hell they needed to know!" snapped the caped woman. "The more people who know about Cauldron, the more danger we're in of being revealed to the world at large. What the hell were you _thinking?"_

Eidolon was trying to think of a way to calm her down when Doctor Mother entered the room.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Alexandria and Eidolon turned to her, while Contessa found a table and hitched herself up on to it.

"What's going _on,"_ snapped Alexandria, "is that the Protectorate now knows that Cauldron exists, and that I'm head of the PRT. And you can bet there'll be fallout when _that_ gets around."

"That won't necessarily be the case," Eidolon observed quietly.

Alexandria whirled on him. "What do you mean? Emily Piggot _knows!"_

"Is this true?" asked Doctor Mother of Contessa.

The younger woman nodded. "She had Armsmaster bug Michael Allen's flat when he was out on Sunday. They have listened to the complete meeting we had with him on Sunday night. They already knew about Cauldron's existence, and Alexandria's true identity, before the meeting tonight."

Doctor Mother shook her head. "But why? Why did you let this even _happen?"_

Contessa's voice was patient. "Because we needed them on board sooner rather than later. Now that they know the full gravity of the situation, they aren't about to cause waves until after the Scion situation is settled, once and for all. And we learned some extremely valuable information."

"In return for the PRT getting concrete information on the existence of Cauldron," responded Doctor Mother. "Is this sort of trade truly equitable?"

Contessa smiled at her. "Let me just say; my path to this particular victory now has far fewer steps."

"And the cost?" Alexandria asked sharply.

Contessa's gaze was serene. "Much, much less."

And there was no arguing with that.

=/=

PRT

The PRT building was virtually deserted when they returned. Piggot posted two guards outside the doors to her office, then invited the two parahumans – now garbed in their regular costumes – inside before she instituted security lockdown.

Seating herself behind her desk, she looked at the other two.

"The floor is open," she declared. "I have my own thoughts, but I'd like to hear yours."

Miss Militia spoke first. "Remember when we thought it was out of our pay grade, when we first heard that recording?" Behind her scarf, she grimaced. "This is _really_ out of our pay grade."

"Granted," agreed the Director impatiently. "But, like it or not, we chose to be a part of this, and so we're going to have to see it through. Armsmaster?"

"I took a recording, of course," the armoured hero noted. "And we should also have the take from the bugs. I would like to run every utterance that was made in that flat through my software, to pick out every nuance." He paused, marshalling his thoughts. "First impression is that he was telling the truth, at least as he saw it. Cauldron, to which Alexandria and Eidolon belong, as well as the woman called Contessa -"

" - probably Legend as well," interjected Miss Militia. "If this thing's been around as long as we think it has, then it would be implausible to think that he's unaware of it."

Armsmaster nodded. "That makes sense," he agreed. "So, the putative membership of Cauldron; Alexandria, Eidolon, Legend, Contessa, and the person called Doctor Mother. Possibly others. Their stated aim is saving the world, presumably by finding a way to defeat Scion, but they haven't been too optimistic of success."

"Not until Security filled in the blanks for them," Piggot noted.

"Did anyone else get the impression that Contessa was a parahuman?" asked Miss Militia. "She seemed very sure of herself, and the other two seemed to defer to her for advice. Although Alexandria was angry that she had misled them about the bugs."

"Yes ..." agreed Emily slowly. "That was interesting; the inference I got was that she knew about the bugs, but let them come to his place and be recorded, so that when Allen invited us, Alexandria and Eidolon would not be able to turn us away."

Armsmaster shook his head. "I don't see how she could have known about the bugs. I was very careful about placing them."

"Or, for that matter, how she knew that Allen would be inviting us," added Miss Milita.

"I'm going to chalk it up to Thinker powers," the Director stated. "At least, until a better explanation comes along."

Armsmaster turned his head toward Emily. "Not to change the subject, but now that Alexandria is aware that we know about her double role, how are you going to play it?"

"Very carefully," the Director told him. "I'm still just as unhappy about a parahuman being in charge of the PRT, but right now, the stakes are too high to rock the boat too much. However, I will be getting in touch with her and making it clear that the moment this crisis is over and done, I fully expect her to resign."

"You think she'll actually do it?" asked Miss Militia.

Piggot's voice was a growl. "She'd better."

Armsmaster's voice was thoughtful. "I suspect that if Security told her that she needed to resign, she would. Anyone else … she may argue."

Emily compressed her lips, but didn't comment further on the matter. "Moving on. Those 'door' portals they used to enter and exit the apartment. Observations?"

Miss Militia was the first to speak. "I didn't see an obvious bit of Tinker-tech being used; besides, it was a vocal command. I'm getting the impression the signal was transmitted to someone, who used Tinker-tech from his location. Or it was a cape."

"Maybe Contessa was the one who opened the portal; that might be her power?" suggested Armsmaster.

Miss Militia shook her head. "No, on two counts. First, she wasn't present at the first meeting we have a recording of. She doesn't speak, and no-one addresses her. She's referred to only in the third person. So she didn't open the portal from Allen's flat on that occasion. On this occasion, Alexandria did not so much as look at her when she gave the command. It's an outside party."

Piggot nodded. "Granted. So Cauldron has someone or something that can open a teleportation portal on command. Possibly in response to a radio signal."

"Not radio," Armsmaster replied. "I was scanning all available frequencies while I was there. The only outgoing signals were my bugs."

"Perhaps this is how Allen sent the Travellers back to Earth Aleph," suggested Miss Militia. "And how he retrieved that boy from China."

"Portals that can cross the boundaries between worlds?" asked Director Piggot. "Is that even possible?"

Armsmaster shrugged. "Professor Haywire did it."

"And they haven't been able to close that one since," Emily reminded him tartly. "This seems to be a case of open and shut, like an ordinary door."

Armsmaster compressed his lips. "So, a Thinker power that lets the portal-maker know when someone wants a portal, and where to. And the ability to create and destroy portals at will. And Security seems to have access to this capability. Do we think he's working with Cauldron full-time?"

Miss Militia shook her head. "Not the impression I got. More like a third party. He seemed to be rather amused to be telling them how to do their job."

Piggot nodded. "I got that impression too. Now, about Allen himself. He made some fairly wild claims about his origins, there. Did any of it ring false to either of you?"

"I'm … not sure," Miss Militia ventured. "Again, I got the impression of amusement, as if he were playing some sort of practical joke on us. Nothing malicious; just … funny."

"He told the truth, as far as I was able to tell," Armsmaster put in. "I got a few edgy readings here and there, but they all came down on the side of 'truth'. He never told a direct lie. But like I said, I'd like to run the recordings through a more complete suite of analysis software. I'll also be supplying the entire recording to Dragon, of course."

"Good idea," declared Director Piggot. "I, for one, would like to know what the joke is. And why he kept it from us."

Miss Militia frowned. "That … might not be a good idea," she suggested at last. "Remember how he said that it might drive us mad? He's already mentioned something like that to me before, and he said as much to Dragon that one time. The punchline of the joke could be something so horrifying, so mind-destroying, that we can't assimilate it into our worldview."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "More horrifying than the idea that the most powerful cape in the world is actually a giant multidimensional space whale that came here to kill us all and destroy Earth for its energy?"

Armsmaster made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort of amusement. "Your point is extremely valid, Director."

"Something else just occurred to me, just now," Miss Militia observed. "About Michael Allen himself."

The other two looked at her. "Yes?" Emily prompted.

"Did it strike you that, for someone who's only been here for a week, he seemed very … _human?"_

Silence fell, broken only by the irritating background buzz of the white-noise generator.

Director Piggot thought she could see where Hannah was going with this, but she gestured for the other woman to go on with it anyway. "Explain."

"Well," Miss Militia explained, "he said that he's done this sort of thing before, with puppets. This is the first time he's ended up in the universe he was meddling with. But he didn't seem … awkward. Out of place. No cultural dissonances. Perfectly normal mannerisms."

"What are you saying?" asked Armsmaster.

"I'm not sure," confessed Miss Militia. "Maybe that whatever his original race is, wherever he comes from, it's not altogether different from here?"

"Except that _there_, they have the ability to interfere with other universes," pointed out the armoured hero.

"Well, there is _that_," admitted Miss Militia. "Whatever it is, I guess I'm glad that he's here. He genuinely seems interested in helping us solve our problems."

"Maybe because now that he's stuck here, they're his problems too?" suggested Armsmaster dryly.

"Not necessarily the case," Emily put in. "He's going out of his way to help people who would otherwise be in a bad situation. He's even insisted that we treat Bonesaw courteously."

The other two digested that. "So what _are_ you going to do with her?" asked Miss Militia.

"What he asked me to do," Piggot told him. "A nicer cell, some reading material. He's also suggested therapy, once Panacea finishes her current run with Mrs Yamada, and is free to remove the modifications that Bonesaw's done to herself. I'm inclined to go with it."

Armsmaster's voice was flat. "Therapy. For mass murderers."

Emily made her voice equally flat. "He _also_ stated that we would need all the healers we could get."

"I have a feeling," observed Miss Militia, "that even in the _best_ case, we're going to need them badly. Even Bonesaw."

"I'm not disputing that," protested Armsmaster, "but it goes against the grain to give preferential treatment to a prisoner that we would have simply executed in the normal course of events."

"The events of the last few days," Miss Militia pointed out, "have been anything _but_ normal. Even for Brockton Bay."

"Speaking of which," Emily commented, "did anyone else catch the reference to Weaver as a backup? The inference being for _Dragon?"_

Miss Militia nodded. "Now, I wonder what _that's _about," she mused.

The Director blinked, as a couple of pieces of information slotted together in her head. "This is strictly confidential," she advised them, "but I've been shown footage that has Mr Allen walking into the Brockton Bay Central Bank on Thursday, and walking out with Panacea, just _before_ the robbery. Literally, seconds before. And _now, _Panacea is attending therapy with Jessica Yamada, and for the duration of that therapy, she's staying over with ...". She paused for dramatic effect. " ... none other than Taylor Hebert."

Miss Militia blinked. "Weaver."

"Allen's pet cape," Armsmaster put in flatly.

Emily shot him a warning glance. _There's a time and a place for that sort of thing. This isn't it._ "And Ms Hebert," she continued, "is in the process of transferring to Arcadia from Winslow in the wake of a case of extreme and aggravated bullying, perpetrated in part by our very own Sophia Hess. Which was brought to a sudden and screeching halt by the actions of one Michael Allen, security guard ... last Friday. Before we even _knew_ about him."

"Christ," muttered Armsmaster. "Shadow Stalker tried to _murder_ Allen on Friday night. He was amazingly well prepared for the attempt. Do you think he deliberately provoked her, to get her arrested? Perhaps to open up a spot in the Wards for Weaver?"

"Or maybe he just did it to get her off of Taylor's back," suggested Miss Militia. "She's a very new cape, and not totally sure of herself quite yet. Every time I've seen them together, he's gone out of his way to encourage her and give her confidence. Having someone like Shadow Stalker … well, being Shadow Stalker at her … it might not have gone well."

Piggot shook her head. "I've given up trying to outguess that man. But I think it would be a very good idea to keep an eye on all three of them. If only for the sake of anyone who tries to mess with them."

In the normal course of events, this would have been taken as a joke. No-one laughed.

=/=

Armsmaster

Colin leaned back in his chair. Although reinforced to take the weight of his armour, it still creaked. His helmet sat on the bench next to the computer terminal.

"So," he commented. "What do you think?"

Dragon's warm contralto sounded faintly amused. _"If I didn't know you better, Colin, I'd say you were somewhat shaken."_

He snorted. "Nonsense. I am perfectly in control of my reactions, thank you very much."

"_Nonetheless,"_ Dragon continued, _"I would not blame you if you were. Using your software, and my own observations, it appears that Mr Allen is being totally sincere across the board. He's not trying to trick you or play you false in any way that I can tell."_

"He did seem to be amused from time to time," Colin pointed out. "What's that about?"

"_I'm not sure,"_ mused Dragon. _"I get the distinct impression that he was vastly amused about something that he knew, very probably in relation to what he was saying, that we did not. Extrapolating from that, it's something that, if we knew, it would probably change what we thought of the situation."_

"So he _was_ hiding something," Colin decided.

"_Nothing that would hurt us," _Dragon reminded him. _"However, I did get something else, and that's potentially more serious."_

Colin say forward, his attention fully engaged now. "What is it?"

"_When he was quoting the casualties from the battle with Zion, I got the impression of uncertainty. He wasn't lying as such. Not trying to make up numbers to deceive us. But it felt as though he was ballparking the figures because he couldn't recall them exactly."_

Colin felt a chill run down his back. "Which means?"

"_Which means, my dear Mr Wallis, that he may have underquoted the casualty figures by quite a bit. Not as an attempt to deceive us, or to make us feel better, but because that's what he believed the number to be."_

The chill intensified. _Two billion was an __**underquote?**_ "That really, really doesn't sound good."

"_No, it doesn't. But it does sound as though we definitely need to pay attention to what he said about winning the war."_ She paused. _"I just hope that I can be as much help as he says I can. I think I need to talk to him again, and soon."_

"I think you're right." Colin stretched, still sitting in the chair. "So how have you been feeling recently?"

"_Quite all right, why do you – oh!"_ Dragon's voice took on a scolding note. _"You've been digging into my code again, haven't you, you naughty boy?"_

Colin grinned. He was beginning to enjoy these discussions with Dragon more and more. Despite knowing exactly what she was, it mattered to him less with each passing day. As Michael Allen had told him, they were a true match, with many of the same viewpoints, and enough differences that it made life interesting.

_One more thing I owe him for._

"Mayybe," he teased her out loud. "So, no headaches, no impairments?"

"_None that I can tell – oh. That's interesting."_

"What's that?" he asked innocently.

"_My information processing speed has increased by … hm. A good twenty percent. I didn't even notice I was thinking faster."_

He made a mental note. _Twenty percent. That sounds about right._

The 'black box' that he had salvaged from Saint's laboratory had given him the tools to gradually ease the restrictions off of Dragon's programming. A normal human would not have been able to even consider it, but as an experienced Tinker, he had a slight advantage in the matter. Slowly, carefully, he was picking away at the edge of the problem. _One step at a time._

_I just hope we're ready before it all goes pear-shaped._

=/=

**Saturday Morning**

Taylor &amp; Amy

Taylor's voice was concerned. "Amy, how are you doing?"

Amy fought for breath as she continued to stagger along on her way. "I'm … fine," she managed. "I thought … I was fit. Fitter … than this."

"We'll slow down," Taylor decided. "It would be the height of irony if you were to have a heart attack while out running." So saying, she dropped back to a walk.

Gratefully, Amy slowed to match her pace; her breathing became a little easier.

"You know," Taylor told her, "you don't have to do it all in one day. I just pushed myself a little more each day until I got there."

"Wanted to see if I could," panted Amy. "Don't want to slow you down."

Taylor grinned. "As if. It's _fun_ to go for a walk, or a jog, or whatever, with you. I don't have many friends."

Amy's eyes cut sideways to her; she was drawing deep breaths, getting the oxygen back into her body. "But you're so _confident."_

Taylor shook her head slightly. "Remember the locker thing we talked about on Thursday night? That was only one incident of many. It was the _worst_ one, yes, but still only one of many."

Amy shook her head slightly. "Holy crap. How long has this been going on?"

A shrug. "September, year before last. Beginning of ninth grade."

Amy was horrified. "And no-one's done anything -?"

Taylor's voice was flat. "Not until Mike stuck his oar in, no."

"Wow. And I thought _my_ life was bad." Amy opened her arms and hugged Taylor; they held each other close for just a moment, mutually supporting one another, both physically and emotionally.

As they pulled apart again, Taylor gave her a sympathetic look. "If you got Mike Allen's attention, then yeah, it's pretty bad. Want to talk about it?"

Amy considered that. There was stuff she had already spoken about with Mrs Yamada, and Taylor was easy to talk to.

"Well," she began, as they started off back toward the house, "not many people know this, but I'm adopted. And it turns out that my real dad's actually a supervillain ..."

=/=

Mike Allen

_I locked my front door and sighed. Friday had been a cast-iron __**bitch**__. The Bakuda thing, the bomb in my neck, the operation, the save-the-world meeting ..._

_"I am totally __**fucked.**__"_

_"Yes, yes, you are."_

_My head jerked up. I spun around and stared. My mouth dropped open._

_"You have got to be fucking __**kidding**__ me."_

_Jack Slash lounged on my couch, idly twirling a knife between his fingers. "Nope."_

_"How the living goddamn __**fuck**__ -"_

_He came to his feet easily, lithely. His shirt was torn, his trousers dirty. He looked more than a little bruised and contused. "I'm __**good**__, Mr Allen. Very good indeed. It's how I survived all these years, leading the Nine."_

_My hand moved toward where my equipment belt should have been, but I realised belatedly that I was no longer wearing it. I swallowed, my throat dry. "So ... what are you going to do with me?"_

_He pondered that, the knife twirling some more. "I think ... I'm going to make you spill your guts."_

_"What, make me talk?"_

_He chuckled richly. "Oh, that too. But no. I escape death by the very skin of my teeth, make my way to the big city, and find out through channels that it's a lowly __**security guard**__ who spilled the beans on me." He shook his head. "But you're not just a security guard are you - Security? You're a __**cape**__. You have __**powers**__. There's no other way you could know so much about me."_

_A plan, desperate as it was, formed in my head. "Such as your early days with the Nine – __**Jacob?**__" I asked quietly._

_He spread his hands wide. "See, that's what I'm talking about! That's pure Thinker material, right there! How else would you know?"_

_"I can tell you," I promised him. "I can tell you everything. I can tell you the very secrets of the universe."_

_He looked at me, intrigued._

_"I mean it," I urged him. "I know things I've never told __**anyone**__. Things about the world. About how powers work. About __**everything**__. And I can tell you it all. I __**will**__ tell you it all."_

_He shook his head. "Oh, no, no. You don't get off that easily. I said I was going to spill your guts, and I am. It's __**amazing**__ how long someone can live with their intestines decorating the floor."_

_He swung the knife; I lunged at the same moment. The knife split my shirt open. But it did not penetrate the stab vest._

_Jack had just one moment to say, "A __**vest**__?" before I hit him._

_I weigh nearly three hundred pounds. Jack Slash weighed maybe half of that. I hit him with my full weight, slammed him back into the wall. He still had the knife in his hand; I grabbed the wrist, turned him, and broke his elbow. No hesitation._

_He screamed, and scrabbled inside his shirt; going for another knife. I elbowed him in the back of the head; he face-planted the wall. I did it again; it seemed to be the right thing to do._

_After the third repetition, he went slack in my grip. I pulled his shirt open, and removed all the knives. All the blades. Then I checked his sleeves. And his pants. And the back of his neck._

_By the time I had finished searching him, I could have stocked a major chain-store with the edged weapons he was carrying._

_Then, just for shits and giggles, I broke his other elbow._

_When he came to, he was lying on the floor, tied hand and foot. Just in case. I had my Glock in my hand, not quite pointing at him._

_"Try any tricky shit," I told him bluntly, "and I will shoot you. Right in the head. Several times. We'll see if that works."_

_He sneered at me. "Big talk from someone who's got me helpless."_

_I shrugged. "Seems to be the way you work. But, I was going to tell you the secrets of the universe."_

_He stared. "What, really? That wasn't some bullshit ploy?"_

_I grinned. There was no humour in it whatsoever. "You wish."_

_"So tell me."_

_I cleared my throat. "Once upon a time, there was a person who wrote a story. The story is called Worm ..."_

* * *

_The Door opened into my living room. Eidolon stepped through._

_I stood up. "About bloody time. Take this piece of shit out of here and dispose of him before he wets himself. Again."_

_Eidolon stared down at the shivering, shaking wreck that had once been a figure of terror, a mass murderer many times over. He was mumbling to himself, foam flecking his lips. "Not true ... can't believe it ... this can't be it ... "_

_He broke off when he saw Eidolon and cackled madly. "It's all a lie! All of it! We're a lie! All of us!"_

_"Good god," Eidolon blurted when he saw the madness in Jack's face. All vestige of sanity had fled. He was a broken man. "What did you __**do**__ to him?"_

_I shrugged. "Told him what he wanted to know." I sighed. "Sad case, really. Couldn't handle the complete and literal truth."_

_"About ... what?" asked Eidolon cautiously._

_"__**Everything**__."_

_Behind his mask, Eidolon's eyes widened slightly. "I ... see. Well, I'll take him off your hands now." Gesturing, he caused the bound man to float into the air._

_I watched them disappear into the Door. Jack Slash's last words floated back to me. "__**Fucking fanfiction writers!**__"_

_The Door closed behind them._

=/=

I opened my eyes, and blinked a few times.

"Wow," I muttered. "That was one crazy dream."

Rolling out of bed, I put my feet on the floor. My alarm clock sat silent; I had the vaguest memory of turning off the alarm at some ungodly hour in the morning.

I showered, wandered into the living room, and poured milk on to cereal.

_Saturday. Time to get stuff done._

My cereal bowl rinsed off in the sink, I planted myself in front of the laptop and hit the power button; at the same time, I picked up my phone. Director Piggot answered on the second ring.

"_Mr Allen. To what do I owe the pleasure?"_

"I just remembered something I wanted to remind you of, Director."

Her voice was suspicious. _"Such as?"_

"When we first met, I promised that I could deal with your health problems, but it might have to wait a week or three."

"_I seem to recall you mentioning something of the sort."_

I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "Well, in a month's time, Panacea's gonna be done with her therapy. She'll be clear to regrow your kidneys and fix your leg muscles then."

Her tone was sharp when she answered. _"You're assuming I'm going to let her do anything to me."_

I did my best not to sigh audibly. "Director. I understand why you dislike capes so much. But there's that, and then there's making reasonable use of your resources. And in any case, I'd vastly prefer you to be in perfect health. I'd hate for something to knock you out of the running, so someone else takes over as Director."

The suspicion was back when she answered. _"Do you think something's going to?"_

I considered telling her about her canon kidnapping by the Undersiders, how she would have been compromised, and replaced by Calvert. Then I decided against it. "Not … specifically," I hedged.

"_Good to hear,"_ she replied, irony heavy in her voice. _"So where is the problem?"_

"The problem," I told her, "is in the person they may just bring in to replace you if something _does_ happen. James Tagg."

"_I know the man. What of him?"_

My voice was flat. "He's a dick. Considers that the only way to deal with supervillains is to keep escalating until they cave. Also, no respect for the unwritten rules. This will get him killed if he's not careful."

She paused. _"This is from personal knowledge?"_

"Yes. Do not give him any position of importance in or around Brockton Bay. And if he replaced you, I really don't know if I could work with him."

"_Hm."_ A long pause. _"Well, far be it from me to inflict you on someone else. I will think about it."_

"Thank you, Director," I replied courteously. "You have a good day, now."

"_I will do my best. Good day, Mr Allen."_

I hung up from the call and clicked on the tab for the PHO boards. Almost immediately, a message popped up.

=/=

Undersiders

Lisa leaned back on the couch, her laptop on her knees. She was scanning rapidly through a map of the city, allowing her power to run free.

Brian plumped down beside her. "Any luck so far?"

Brushing an errant strand of dirty-blonde hair back from her face, she glanced over at him. "I've found several alternative places we could run to, but I'm still not convinced that we're in any danger here."

"Seriously?" asked Regent from across the room. "That Security guy set us up and took us down with that bank robbery. He knows way too much shit about us. You said yourself he probably knows where we are right now. _And_ he's working with the PRT. That says we've got to move."

Lisa's hand moved on the mouse without her conscious urging; she watched herself click open a tab for the Parahumans Online boards.

And there, just signing in, was the username mack0813.

"Let's see," she murmured, typing rapidly. "'Hey ... you. How ... goes ... the ... manhunt?'"

The answer made her blink.

_**mack0813:**__ What manhunt? You're in the clear._

Her fingers clattered on the keyboard as she replied.

_**All_Seeing_Eye:**__ We escaped PRT custody. That manhunt._

_**mack0813: **__Nope, no manhunt here. I spoke to Piggot. You're good._

"You're shitting me," she muttered out loud. But her power told her that no, he was not shitting her. He was being entirely sincere.

"What?" asked Brian, leaning around to peer at the screen. "Holy shit, is that for real?"

Wordlessly, she nodded. Tension she hadn't known she was feeling eased out of her.

"Is what for real?" asked Alec.

Brian read the message on the screen one more time. "He talked to Piggot and we're in the clear."

Alec stared. "No way."

Lisa nodded. "Yes way."

Rachel entered the room from the stairs. "Yes way what?"

Brian looked over at her. "We're good."

She wiped her hands off on her cargo pants. "We're good for what?"

"We're not wanted by the PRT for escaping."

"Oh, that?" she commented. "Okay."

Wandering into the kitchen, she took a bottle of soda from the fridge, while Lisa and Brian traded bemused glances.

And then another message popped up, one that made them both stare.

_**mack1308: **__Still have to talk to Piggot about those murder charges, but if you signed up for the Wards, it might be easier to make them go away._

Lisa snapped out of her bemusement, and typed out a reply.

_**All_Seeing_Eye:**__ We'll have to discuss this and get back to you._

_**mack0813:**__ Take your time._

_**mack0813 has left private chat.**_

Brian had been reading along with her, and was shaking his head. "No way. No way that's gonna happen."

"No way what's gonna happen?" asked Alec.

Brian told him. _He_ didn't believe it either.

Lisa wasn't so sure.

=/=

Hebert Household

"So how is the web-testing going?" asked Danny, as he served up breakfast.

"Oh, that's finished," Amy told him cheerfully, forking up fried egg.

"Yeah," Taylor agreed. "We finished that last night before we went to bed." She turned to Amy. "Now all we've got to do is get your measurements so when you've made enough of the new spiders, we can weave you a costume."

Amy nodded. "That sounds like fun. But instead of me making more spiders, why don't I make one very pregnant one? She lays lots of eggs, and in a couple of weeks, we have hundreds of spiders with the same sort of silk." She shrugged. "It's not like I'm in a huge rush."

"She's got a point," Danny told his daughter. "After all, this is Amy's time out. She's not supposed to be doing anything strenuous."

Taylor nodded seriously. "Yeah, you're right. I wasn't thinking. Also, when you do it, make sure the spiders don't have a mating urge. This way, they won't escape and breed to pest levels."

Amy's eyes widened. "Oh. Oh yes. Definitely. The last thing I want is to get in trouble for making a new organism that got out into the environment. That's a really good idea."

Taylor shrugged. "Not me. That was Mike's idea." She paused. "Wait a minute. We had a conversation at school yesterday, and he told me something else too." She concentrated, trying to remember.

Danny looked at Amy, who looked back at him and shrugged. While she was waiting, she buttered some toast and bit into it. Danny sipped at his coffee.

"Got it!" Taylor exclaimed triumphantly. "Amy, Mike says you can mess with the part of the brain that a bug uses to receive the signal I control them with. You can make it so it re-transmits the signal onward, so I get a much wider range."

Amy blinked. "What, really? He says I can do that?"

Taylor nodded seriously again. "He said that in the original timeline, you did just that."

"If Mike says you can do something, I wouldn't bet against him," Danny commented, watching with interest.

Amy looked intrigued. "Give me a bug. I want to see how this works."

Moments later, a beetle flew into her hands. She held it carefully, a look of concentration on her face. "Okay, this seems to be the part involved," she told Taylor, without seeming to do anything. "Okay, that should work. Give it a try."

Taylor nodded. "Toss it out the window."

Amy opened the window and complied. The beetle took wing and buzzed away.

Danny and Amy watched Taylor intently. Nothing happened for a few moments, then Taylor's eyes opened wide.

"My god," she muttered. "It works. Amy, you did it. Seriously, you did it." Holding up her hand, she offered the biokinetic a high-five, which Amy returned. She then followed up with a fist-bump, which Amy also returned, looking pink with pride.

"Next time I see Mike," declared Taylor, "I'm gonna give him the biggest hug."

"Next time _I_ see him," Amy decided, "I'm gonna ask him if he's got any other cool bug ideas. I didn't even know I could do that."

Taylor nodded vigorously. "Yeah. That. Definitely that." She put her arm around Amy and hugged her close. "Dad, can we keep her?"

Amy blushed even pinker.

=/=

Dragon

Dragon, in her role as administrator for the PHO boards, observed the conversation between Mike and All_Seeing_Eye, who she deduced to be Tattletale of the Undersiders, without much in the way of difficulty. The conversation ended, and then, to her surprise, a message popped up.

_**Private chat request for Tin_Mother from mack0813.**_

Intrigued, she responded.

_**Tin_Mother:**__ What's up, mack?_

_**mack0813: **__Wondering if Colin had gotten back to you about last night._

_**Tin_Mother:**__ Would it do any good to ask how you knew?_

_**mack0813:**__ Just one of those things._

_**Tin_Mother:**__ I see. Well, Colin gave me a full run-down. I have to admit, I am not truly surprised._

_**mack0813:**__ I'm impressed._

_**Tin_Mother:**__ Thank you. Incidentally, just a query._

_**mack0813:**__ Yes?_

_**Tin_Mother:**__ Do you know many Australians?_

There was a pause before he replied.

_**mack0813:**__ Why do you ask?_

_**Tin_Mother:**__ 'spit the dummy' is uniquely Australian slang. I was wondering where you picked it up from._

_**mack0813:**__ Can I put that in the 'tell you later' folder? Because if I told you now, I'm not sure where the explanation would stop._

_**Tin_Mother:**__ Certainly, mack. Any time you want to tell me._

_**mack0813:**__ I will tell you sometime. Just not right now. Anyway, I was just checking in to see if you were in the loop._

_**Tin_Mother:**__ Most definitely. And thank you._

_**mack0813:**__ Not a problem. Talk to you later._

_**Tin_Mother:**__ Goodbye, mack._

_**mack0813 has left private chat.**_

And Dragon was left to consider what she had learned.

=/=

Sveta

Tendrils looped around a dozen different anchoring points to avoid grabbing the wretched computer and hurling it at the wall, Sveta tried for the tenth time to get past a particularly difficult obstacle in Space Opera. Frustration had her near tears, and it didn't help that some of the other players had seen her predicament and were offering 'helpful' advice, which did her no good at all.

And then a message popped up in the corner of her screen; _mack0813 has sent you a private message._

She nearly broke her mouse, clicking on the tab.

* * *

_**mack0813:**__ Hey good looking. How's my best girl?_

_**GstringGirl:**__ mack! I've missed you. (hugs)_

_**mack0813:**__ Missed you too. *hugz* I'm free till this evening. Are you free to do some gaming?_

_**GstringGirl:**__ am I! Of course Im free._

_**mack0813:**__ Excellent. So, when last we left our intrepid ex-slave girl, where were we?_

Sveta didn't even need to think hard about that one.

_**GstringGirl:**__ Svetlana had just stumbled into a campsite, and there was a man, a horse and what looked like a really big wolf._

_**mack0813:**__ And the shouts of your pursuers were quite close behind, yes?_

_**GstringGirl:**__ yes. Svetlana edges around the campfire, cradling Esmerelda in her arms, avoiding the wolf. "Please help me," she says to the man. "The men chasing me, they want to do bad things to me."_

_**mack0813:**__ in Lantrai, of course. Because she doesn't speak Mornasian._

_**GstringGirl:**__ oh. Yes. Does he understand me?_

_**mack0813:**__ you're not sure, at first. And then he addresses you in broken Lantrai. "Get behind me." at least, that's what you think he's saying. It's either that or 'get in my backpack'._

_**GstringGirl:**__ (grin) I'll take it as 'get behind me' and I get behind him._

_**mack0813:**__ As you get behind him, he says something you don't understand, and the massive wolf gets up and disappears into the undergrowth. And then the first men appear at the edge of the campsite. He draws his sword and shouts a challenge in what sounds like Mornasian. And then the interpreter comes forward ..._

As the game went on, Sveta's bunched tendrils relaxed and eased away from where she'd had them looped. Enthralled, she followed the story that Mack was weaving, watched as the man interposed himself between her and her putative owner.

She had quite forgotten about the dire wolf, and so when it came in at an opportune moment to threaten the men holding crossbows on her rescuer, she gasped aloud with relief. There was a sword fight then, but of course her rescuer prevailed; while Mack did not describe every swing, every parry, she almost felt as though she really was there.

And when the fight was over, and the last of them (including her one-time owner) sent on his way with a well-aimed boot to the backside, she almost felt like cheering with relief.

_**mack0813:**__ Sorry, I've got to get going. But I'll be back later to continue. Have you enjoyed it?_

_**GstringGirl:**__ Oh god that's the most fun I've had in ages. Yes please to continuing._

_**mack0813:**__ Good. See you later Svetlana. (hugz)_

_**GstringGirl:**__ See you later Mack (hugs)_

_**mack0813 has left private chat.**_

Sveta carefully saved the chat log, along with the others. Then she went back and began to read through from the very beginning, humming softly to herself.

=/=

Dragon

Unbeknownst to either GstringGirl or mack0813, Dragon also saved a copy of the chat log. She was also rather enjoying the game, but one thing was bothering her.

_How do I ask Mike to invite me into the game without letting him know that I've been prying into private chat logs?_

It was quite a conundrum.

* * *

End of Chapter Thirty-One


	32. Chapter 32

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two: Viewpoints - First Person Singular

* * *

Danny

The phone rang; I muted the TV and got up to answer it. "Hebert household; Danny speaking."

The voice I heard was both familiar and welcome. _"Danny, how's it going?"_

"Mike, good to hear from you. How are you feeling?"

"_Eh. Surgically implanted bombs are a pain in the neck."_

The joke was terrible, but I chuckled anyway. "Yeah, I saw that one coming. What's up? Need to talk to Taylor?"

"_Actually, I was calling to ask about my vehicle. But now that you mention it, how's Taylor and Amy getting along?"_

"Oh, your pickup's ready to be, well, picked up," I assured him. "As for Amy and Taylor, they're out in the backyard, giving the local bug population a real workout. Having a great time."

"_That's excellent to hear. So they're getting along well?"_

I snorted. "Are they ever. Amy was a little shy at first, but now they're inseparable. That was a brilliant idea of yours. I think Taylor's helping Amy as much as Amy's helping Taylor."

"_Awesome sauce. Whereabouts is the vehicle? I was thinking about taking a taxi to go pick it up."_

"Forget it," I told him. "I'll give you a lift. The girls want to see you anyway."

"_Oh. Well, uh, if you're sure."_

"Hey. It's the least I can do. You're at home right now?"

"_Yeah. I'll be waiting out front. Thanks for this."_

"Trust me, it's not a problem."

We said our goodbyes, and I put the phone down. Strolling to the back door, I leaned out. On the other side of the back yard, Taylor and Amy were conferring over what looked like a string of bugs holding a length of webbing in the air.

"Girls," I called. "I'm just going to give Mike a lift to pick up his car. Anyone want to come along?" _Three ... two ... one ..._

Taylor only beat Amy to the back steps because she had longer legs; at that, Amy was not far behind. "Yes, please," they chorused.

"Wow," I chuckled, ostentatiously looking at my watch. "Are you sure you two don't aren't speedsters? Or maybe teleporters? That was impressive."

Amy grinned; Taylor stuck out her tongue at me.

* * *

The girls elected to ride in the back together; they chattered all the way over to Mike's place. Not all of it was about bugs; Amy was filling in Taylor about Arcadia and how it was run, Taylor was wondering out loud whether she should join the Wards, they were both talking about their favourite books, and a dozen other topics. I could not help the smile that crossed my face; Taylor was starting to really open up again, after so long. Following Anne-Rose's death, and then the bullying by Emma and her cronies, Taylor had withdrawn almost totally. But now …

_Now she's got purpose, and a new best friend. She's coming out of her shell._

_This is a __**good**__ thing._

=/=/=

Mike

I hadn't been waiting long by the time Danny showed up and pulled in to the curb. I opened the door and got in; Danny was pulling into traffic again even as I did up the seatbelt.

"Danny," I said by way of greeting. "Thanks again for this." Turning my head, I brought my fist around so that Taylor could bump it. "Hey, girls."

"Hi, Mike," Taylor greeted me, bringing her fist up to meet mine.

"Hi, Mr Allen," echoed Amy, doing the same a moment later; she held the contact for a few seconds. I didn't feel anything strange, but I thought I knew what she'd just done.

"You know," I told her, "you _can_ call me Mike. And how's it healing?"

Amy blushed. "You knew what I was doing?"

I grinned. "Let's just say it was an educated guess. Well?"

Amy nodded. "It's healing fine. Are you feeling any pain?"

"A lot less than yesterday, to be honest," I admitted. "Riley's a genius when it comes to surgery." I paused. "Which kind of makes sense, now I come to think about it."

"Yes," Amy admitted grudgingly. "She did a good job. I've been thinking, and I'm sorry I snapped at you yesterday."

"Hey," I told her. "You were worried about me. I get that, and I'm touched by it. Sorry for making you worry. Friends?"

I opened my hand; after a moment, she clasped it. "Friends."

"Excellent," I declared. "Now, what's this I hear about you two collaborating on bugs?"

"Oh, Amy's _awesome,"_ declared Taylor. "We got some really strong dragline silk out of a modified black widow, and she's been making those bugs you suggested, the ones that extend my range?"

"Relay bugs?" I suggested.

"Yeah, those ones," Taylor agreed. "And they _work. _My god, how useful are _those_ going to be?"

I grinned. "I'll go with 'very'." I nodded toward Amy. "Nice work, kiddo."

Amy blushed and ducked her head. "It wasn't hard. I'm enjoying myself."

"Just don't overdo it, okay?" I warned her. "You're supposed to be taking time off, not pushing yourself to exhaustion in a different direction."

"Oh, no," Taylor told him earnestly. "I'm not about to let her do that."

Amy raised her head again. "Really, it's all right," she assured me. "Mrs Yamada's already spoken to me about pushing myself too hard. And with bugs, it's easy. There's no pressure to get it right first time, every time. If I do something horrible to it that I can't fix, there's always another bug."

"Not that she's done anything like that yet," Taylor put in. "But yeah, we're just fiddling. Seeing what she can do that's possible. Working things out. When I make her new costume for her, I want it to be as durable as possible."

_Durable costumes, yes. Time, I think, to drop the hint._

"Just as a suggestion," I observed, "you might want to start thinking about getting together a really large population of spiders, so you can make costumes or costume liners for other people. Wards, Protectorate and so on." I grinned. "Hell, you might even be able to charge them for it."

_No need to tell them quite yet that there's a war coming. Time enough for that later._

Taylor looked suddenly thoughtful. "That could be … possible," she agreed. "Amy, could you make them less aggressive, so they aren't so likely to eat each other or attack people?"

"Sure," agreed the biokinetic promptly. "That bit's easy. But it would be even easier to do this if you were in the Wards, right, Mike?"

"Exactly and precisely," I concurred. "Though, you know, no pressure."

"_Do _I go into the Wards, in the other timeline?" asked Taylor suddenly. "I can't recall if you told me or not."

I nodded. "Eventually, yes."

Danny looked at me enquiringly. "Eventually?"

"Yeah, eventually," I confirmed. I paused, wondering how much to say, then decided to bite the bullet. "This is after you become a villain and take over Brockton Bay for a while."

_Let's leave out the parts about defeating Dragon, kidnapping Piggot, and killing Calvert, Tagg and Alexandria, shall we?_

Even without those revelations, the only sound in the car was the sound of the engine, and of the wheels on the asphalt.

"And … what am I doing, during this time?" ventured Amy hesitantly.

"Ah, there it gets more complicated," I told her. _Okay, careful now._ "You first meet Taylor during the bank robbery. It doesn't go well for you. You and Vicky both get hurt, and certain unpleasant truths threaten to be exposed. So you're in a bad headspace. Leviathan attacks, your foster father gets brain damage, and then the Slaughterhouse Nine comes to town. You end up being forced to heal Flashbang's brain or watch him die in agony, courtesy of Bonesaw. So you run away from home. And then things … get worse."

Amy swallowed. "Do I want to know the details?" she asked, very quietly.

"Not yet," I said gently. "Not until after you've finished your therapy." _And maybe not even then._

I turned and smiled back at her. "And don't forget; this is _not_ going to happen. I have _specifically_ taken steps to make sure that it does not happen. Got it?" I put all the sincerity I could muster into my voice.

She smiled back at me. "Got it. And thanks."

Taylor impulsively hugged her, eliciting a startled squeak. "And I'm not gonna let anything happen to my awesome bestie anyway," she declared.

Amy hugged her back. "Right back atcha, villain," she agreed with a giggle. Looking back around at me, she asked, "The Taylor who's a villain, what does she call herself?"

I grinned. _Whew, danger averted._ "Skitter."

Amy snorted laughter. _"Skitter?"_

I shrugged. "The Protectorate named her; she didn't choose it herself."

"I damn well hope not," Taylor put in. "Skitter. Good _God."_

"Watch out," pronounced Amy in sepulchral tones. "It's … _Skitter."_

Everyone burst out laughing; I joined in too. But I could not help thinking; _Oh boy. If only you knew … _

* * *

Kurt's workshop yard had cars strewn around it in various stages of repair. Mine stood on its own; slowly, I paced my way around it, looking for where it had been repaired. "Damn, Kurt," I commented. "It looks better than it did before they got their hands on it."

"Hey, it wasn't a problem," the big man assured me. "Dockworkers take care of Dockworkers."

I turned to face him. "But I'm not a -"

He held up his hand, cutting me off. "Danny says you're one of us, you're one of us. Now stop whining."

I had to laugh. "Sure, okay. I do appreciate it." I opened the door and got in; the keys were in the ignition. The seat cover was new, I noted, and incidental damage to the actual seat had been repaired. They'd even detailed the interior. "Wow. This is nice."

Climbing out, I shook hands with Danny and then Kurt. "Thanks for this. And thank everyone else too, will you?"

"Sure," agreed Danny. "Just remember, you're welcome over any time."

I nodded. "I'll take you up on that."

Turning toward Taylor, I went to fist-bump her, and she hugged me instead. "Come on over now," she suggested. "We can show you what me and Amy have been doing with that, uh, school project you were helping us with."

We both knew she meant the bugs; however, Kurt was obviously not in the know.

"Not right this second," I told her, "but maybe later. I do want to see it. It sounds cool."

"Okay, sure," she agreed readily enough.

Amy stepped up then. "You take care of yourself," she told me firmly.

"I always do," I protested.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, right." Quickly, she grabbed me in a hug before letting me go. "Thanks for everything."

"Hey, you two ratbags are worth it," I assured her. "You just keep doing what you're doing." _Keep going to therapy, _I meant.

She picked it up loud and clear. "I will," she assured me seriously. "And someday you can tell me the rest of that story."

I nodded. "That's a promise."

"Uh, one more thing," she ventured.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Uh ..." She lowered her voice, glancing over to where Kurt was chatting with Danny, with Taylor standing nearby. "Any other ideas for cool bugs? I want to surprise Taylor."

I rubbed my chin. "Well, you could try this idea ..." Keeping my voice down, I explained the concept. She nodded. "Or this." Once again, I explained.

She nodded once more. "Thanks, Mr Allen – I mean, Mike."

I shrugged. "Hey, you're welcome. Let me know what you come up with."

Climbing into the cab of the pickup, I started the engine. It started sweetly and ran smoothly; I couldn't be sure, but it sounded like the engine had even been tuned. Looking over at Kurt, I saw him give me a thumbs-up.

I gave him one back. _Dockworkers take care of Dockworkers._

I had to agree, they were useful friends to have.

Closing the door, I wound down the window and offered Amy my left fist to bump; she smiled and shyly bumped it. "See you around, kiddo," I told her.

"You too," she replied, as Taylor came up beside her. I gave her a fist-bump as well, then did up my seat belt.

"Take care, be good, and don't do anything I wouldn't do," I advised them, then grinned. "Which, admittedly, doesn't leave much."

Leaving them both rolling their eyes at the joke, I gave Danny a wave, and drove out of there.

I needed to talk with Director Piggot.

=/=/=

Emily

Ask any bureaucrat; reports are simultaneously the bane of one's existence and the life-blood of one's continuing employment. I'd had a series of reports come over my desk which seemed to be less than accurately filled out, which gave me cause for concern. It indicated that someone was either lazy, dishonest or attempting to cover up a greater misdemeanour.

I was in the middle of cross-checking said reports to find out which was which - I could have delegated this task, but after ten years in the job, I had a certain facility for picking out deception - when my intercom went off.

"_Director, you have an incoming call from Michael Allen."_

"Put him through," I replied immediately, and picked up my desk phone.

"_Hello?"_

"Mr Allen," I greeted him. "Was there something else you wanted to talk to me about?"

"_Actually, yes there was. But I'd prefer to do it face to face."_

I frowned. "Sensitive material?"

"_Mildly sensitive, yes. Not ultra-sensitive, but reasonably so."_

"In that case, come on in. I'll make time for you."

"_I'll be there in twenty to thirty minutes. Traffic permitting."_

"I'll expect you then."

"_See you then."_

He hung up from the call; I put the phone down, still frowning. _Mildly sensitive but not overly so. So, not more revelations about Zion – _I was consciously using the corrected name for our common enemy now – _but it's too sensitive to speak about over the phone._

I didn't waste time wondering what it would turn out to be; I would find out soon enough. Turning back to my computer, I moved the mouse to wake it up. However, I was delayed from going back to the reports when an email arrived in my inbox. The Urgent tag drew my attention, and the contents caused my eyebrows to raise slightly. Not to mention the chill that ran down my spine.

But there was nothing I could do about it until the enigmatic Mr Allen chose to make an appearance. Therefore, I printed out the email and went back to studying the reports.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, my intercom chimed. _"Mr Allen is here to see you, Director."_

That suited me; I had more or less nailed down what was going on, and all that was required was a sharply worded email sent off to certain departments. But that could wait.

"Show him in."

* * *

Michael Allen was a study in contrast.

Physically, he wasn't overly impressive; back before Ellisburg, I would have rated him maybe a 2.5 to 3 on my personal threat scale. Big, yes, with basic compliance hold training; against a rowdy drunk or an untrained civilian, he would probably stand a good chance at coming out on top. But a good deal of his weight was fat, and he didn't seem to have any real level of fitness beyond what was needed to move that weight around. Against any sort of fit, aware, properly trained opponent, I would not have rated his chances as being very high.

On the other hand, there was the previous week to consider. Starting from Friday night, he had physically clashed with no less than four parahumans that I personally knew of, and come out on top each time.

Shadow Stalker had been no pushover, but he had - if I was to believe Armsmaster's analysis of the situation - deliberately drawn her into the trap of attempting to murder him, then taken her down and tied her up with conveniently handy Christmas lights.

Lung had been, hands down, the scariest cape resident in Brockton Bay. Along with the bug-controlling Weaver, on her_ very first outing_, he had taken the ABB leader down, or at least successfully coached Weaver in doing so. In the process, he had gotten close enough to take a hit, which he only survived due to the stab vest which had also saved him from Shadow Stalker's arrow.

I decided not to count Coil or Kaiser; however, he had entered Winslow High alone and unarmed, gone up against both Bakuda and Oni Lee, and walked out of there, dragging the former by her ankle, with the latter nowhere to be seen.

Whether all of this was due to fluke, planning or sheer talent, I had long since come to the conclusion that to underestimate the man was not a good idea.

In addition, there was the other aspect. This was the fact that what he had done, he'd done on the basis of purely human capabilities. He had no powers, no Tinkertech, no superhuman abilities to fall back on. In just one week, he had done more to change matters in Brockton Bay than the PRT had done in a year. He was overweight, over forty and over the hill. And he had _still_ managed to pull this off, purely on the basis of his extraordinary knowledge.

I still wasn't quite sure if I believed the 'extradimensional being' story, but no matter how he came by the information, I had to respect what he had done with it. What he was trying to do.

Which was why, when Michael Allen entered my office, I had already decided to devote my full attention to whatever he told me, no matter how unlikely it sounded.

After all, it was just a matter of common sense.

=/=/=

Mike

"Director Piggot," I greeted the woman behind the desk. She rose briefly to shake my hand, then gestured at a chair.

"Have a seat, Mr Allen. So what brings you here today?"

"Several things," I replied, seating myself. "First order of business. You may recall that I mentioned Accord's name last night, as one of the people we really need to get on side."

She frowned very slightly. "Actually, I don't recall precisely, but I have no doubt that it's on the recording."

I nodded. "One of the multiple recordings, I'm assuming. Anyway. You may run into problems getting Accord to work with you; for one thing, he may simply not believe you. Also, he has trouble working with people who are messy, disorderly or disrespectful."

"_That's_ an understatement," she observed. "He tends to kill people for that sort of thing, or so I'm told."

"Exactly. Which is why I'm here to offer you the magic formula for getting him to work with you."

She didn't react, exactly, beyond leaning forward slightly. "I'm listening."

I smiled, just a little. _I love these moments._ "Step one; arrange a liaison who can be _unfailingly_ neat, clean, tidy, orderly and respectful. Step two; contact Accord and tell him that if he works with you, you will see that his Plan is implemented."

She blinked, once, slowly. "I'm sorry? His plan? Which plan?"

I told her the story of the Plan, then, how he formulated the original one, back when he worked for the PRT, and how he broke the law when his supervisor would not pass it up the chain.

"Promise to see the Plan presented to the government, to the United Nations, and there's a good chance that he'll put the entire resources of his organisation at your disposal," I concluded. "Heck, you might even ask him for a similar plan, scaled down for Brockton Bay. He's capable of doing it, and if he moves here, he'll want the place looking more orderly."

Piggot looked a little stunned. "So … that's all we ever had to do to get Accord to play ball? Promise to put this Plan into action? A plan that actually addresses things like world hunger, food production and so on?"

I nodded. "That's about the size of it."

She spread her hands. "So … why have we not heard of this Plan before now?"

"Personally?" I asked. "I think his shard keeps interfering in his plans to publicise it. It wants his plans to cause conflict, not solve it."

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Powers … can_ think?_ They can _influence actions?"_

I grinned. "Yeah. Don't tell anyone, but Leet's shard hates him. It keeps trying to kill him. It's why he keeps failing."

She glanced at me sharply, as if suspecting a joke. It wasn't, of course, but it was the sort of thing that sounded like a joke.

"I … see," she responded. "Very well. Anything else you wanted to bring up?"

"Yeah. Two things we need to keep in mind while planning the assault," I told her. "First off; Dragon needs to know this one. We can not afford to have fixed bases. He will find them, and he will destroy them. Moving bases, even for Dragon herself. And secondly, if he locates Dragon and attacks her, even if she isn't destroyed – and if she does it right, it will be very, very hard for her to be destroyed – he could disrupt her command and control capability. So I've worked out a Plan B and a Plan C. Just in case."

Her eyes were fixed on me. "Plan B?" she asked.

"Weaver," I replied succinctly. "So long as we have portals, she has line of control. She controls bugs precisely. If we have secondary displays in the armbands that she can manipulate with bugs, she can continue to coordinate our forces until Dragon gets back into action."

She was silent for a long moment. "And plan C?"

I paused. "I don't want to go to plan C. If we end up going that far, I'll reveal it then."

"Is this why you've taken an interest in Weaver?" she asked. "Because she's your Plan B for saving the world?"

I shook my head. "No. I've taken an interest in her because she's been shat on from a great height for far too long, and if I let things go on, even the PRT would have joined in. She would have been pushed to feats of desperation and heroism that would chill the blood. She gives her all to save the world, using Plan C, because that's all she has. In the end? She gets a bullet in the head."

I raised my eyes to meet Director Piggot's. "She doesn't _need_ to go through that shit. Nor does anyone else. Not this time. This, among other things, is what I'm trying to prevent here."

I finished speaking; there was silence in the room. Director Piggot's steel-grey eyes bored into mine.

"I really do think I understand, Mr Allen," she responded at last. "As much as I understand any of your motives, of course." She picked up a sheet of paper from her printer tray. "Let me know what you make of this."

I looked at it; it was an email, sans header. I knew how this went.

* * *

_Director Piggot,_

_Analysis indicates that the actual projected casualty numbers may be higher than noted. Please double check this with Security._

_Dragon_

_PS: Please ask him to contact me privately on an unrelated matter._

* * *

The breath went out of me in a _whoosh._

"Bugger," I muttered. "Yeah, she's right, of course." I was recalling now, fragments of the story. Not all of it, but enough.

Piggot frowned. "She is?"

I nodded. "I quoted two billion because it sounded about right. And two billion _do_ die. But the actual number is much more than that." Closing my eyes, I leaned back in the chair. "Not just half a dozen worlds. Maybe a dozen, human inhabited. Earth Bet loses half a billion before lunchtime on Golden Morning. More die after the initial attempt to strike back, when you lose Eidolon and many others. The losses are not even across each Earth; Aleph only loses half a billion all up. The number that keeps tickling my brain is fifty percent of the normal population of Bet, and fifty to eighty percent of the parahumans. Dunno about the other worlds. Say, total losses between ten and twenty billion."

I opened my eyes; she was staring at me in horror.

"As many as that?" she whispered.

I shrugged. "At least. Afterward, Bet is more or less devastated. Lots are evacuated, but more die. United Kingdom, Japan, New Zealand, the East Coast … all more or less destroyed."

I had to admit; Piggot bore up well under the strain. "Thank you, Mr Allen," she acknowledged. "Let us hope we can avoid a repetition of the damage and death, this time."

"Yeah," I muttered. I _hoped_ so, but some outcomes had to be left to their own devices.

"But it _is_ possible to kill him," she stressed.

I nodded. "Just very, very hard. Harder than killing an Endbringer. You're going to have to bring everyone in on this. Everyone who can move themselves or others, sling a blast, break concrete with their bare hands. Street level not so much, but they can do search and rescue. You're gonna need healers on the back end, like never before." I paused. "And when I say 'everyone', I mean _everyone_, from every alternate Earth that has powers. You're going to have to convince them of the truth, and get them on side. Create an alliance against Zion _before_ the battle begins. That's probably going to be harder than actually winning the battle."

_Hope could probably do it,_ I mused. _But I'm not Hope._

"I'm not doubting you, Mr Allen," she told me, "but … I don't know if that can be done. Capes are notoriously hard to convince of _anything."_

I nodded. "I do have a plan. Of sorts." _Contessa. God, I hope she can pull it off._

She drew a deep breath. "Well, I'll leave it in your capable hands then. Was there anything else?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Just a bit of information; nothing you need to act on quite yet. You know that Riley was being held in … special holding, before I told you she was still alive?"

She nodded. "Very special holding, I presume?" On the desk before her, her forefinger traced the letter 'C'.

"That sort of special holding, yes," I agreed. "Just for your information, there's one other member of the Nine still alive; Shatterbird. She's also in special holding."

Piggot frowned. "What? Why? She's a mass murderer."

"Who has ratings as a Mover, a Brute, a Blaster, and she can shape glass with her mind," I reminded her. "One more cape in the fight against Zion."

Reluctantly, she nodded. "I really don't like the idea of giving someone like her a pass just because she might be useful in the future, but I do see your point."

"Talking about that," I added. "It will probably be a good idea to open the Birdcage, to let out certain capes who could be useful in the fight. Marquis, Lustrum and Harmonious Crane, to name just three. Do not, under any circumstance, let Teacher out."

I had managed to startle her, I saw. "The Birdcage?" she repeated. "Would that really be necessary?"

"I bloody well hope not," I told her frankly. "But it might turn out that way. But no matter who else you let out – Teacher stays behind bars."

She tilted her head to one side. "Why him, specifically? He's a Thinker, isn't he?"

"He _creates _Thinkers," I reminded her. "And long-term plans. Accord's better at planning, but second best is still plenty good enough. And everything he does has a purpose. He's far more trouble than he's worth."

She made a note. "Understood," she replied. "Teacher does not get out. What do we do if he does?"

"Kill order," I told her flatly.

Her eyes widened fractionally, but she nodded, and made another note. "Be aware," she commented dryly, "that you do not set PRT policy. I am, however, happy to take advice from you."

"Good enough," I agreed, equally dryly. "Now, on to a happier topic. If Weaver applied for membership with the Wards, would you accept her?"

"God, yes," she replied promptly. "She's made a spectacular showing so far – under your tutelage, no doubt, but still, she is showing great promise. Glenn is likely to want to talk to her about 'image', but apart from that, I'm sure that she'd be welcome in the team. She's certainly impressed Kid Win and Aegis already."

I nodded. "Good. Now, last night, I mentioned Flechette. Would I be mistaken in saying that you were considering having her transferred here to fill the hole Shadow Stalker's left in the team?"

She blinked. "We had talked about it. Is this important?"

"Possibly," I conceded. "We might need to get her in on the ground floor. Also, there's someone I'd like her to meet."

Another frown. "In connection with what?"

"It's not hugely important," I hastened to explain. "Just something I'd like to see happen, if possible."

"Hm," she commented. "Very well. I'll talk to Renick about it. Anything else?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Four more potential Wards joining. A little more controversial than Weaver, but ..."

She got my meaning after a beat; her voice went flat. "You can't be serious."

"Sure I'm serious," I told her. "Tattletale is going to be indispensable in working out battle plans, and shifting the focus of the fight. The others, less of a resource, but you'll still have four potential problems off the street and under your purview."

"Two murderers," she reminded me.

"A good lawyer could have those charges thrown out on grounds of emotional distress and undue influence," I countered.

"Regent is a Master who _takes people over,"_ she ground out.

"So partner him with his old friends," I pointed out. "It takes him all day to get full and complete control of someone, and they're fully able to smack him upside the head if he gets out of line."

"But bringing villains into the Protectorate at all -"

"Assault," I reminded her.

"He never killed anyone."

"No. He just released people who were on the way to the Birdcage. And other prisons."

She paused. "What do you propose to do with Hellhound?"

"Her friends call her Bitch," I reminded her. "She's not much of a team player, I grant you. But she cares for dogs like nothing else. Suppose you put her in charge of a dog shelter and training facility? Left her alone to run the place her way? She could train dogs for the police, for the PRT, for the military, for drug sniffing, whatever. You can believe that the dogs would be well cared for, and she will take every stray she can get her hands on, no questions asked. And you will never get better trained dogs from anywhere else."

_And maybe I can cadge a Door to an uninhabited Earth, where she can take the dogs for regular runs._

Piggot was silent for a moment. "You've thought about this," she accused me.

"Yes," I admitted. "They're good kids at heart … well, for the most part. Take Grue, for instance. Give him custody of his sister, and he'll fall right into line. Tattletale wants to be acknowledged as the smartest person in the room, and to be out from under Coil's thumb. That last bit, we've done. Bitch wants to be left alone with her dogs. And Regent … doesn't want to go back to Heartbreaker. Give them what they want, and they shouldn't cause too many more problems."

"So noted," responded the Director. "Do _they_ want to be in the Wards?"

"If you can pull off the custody thing, Grue will probably go along with it, sure," I predicted. "The others tend to follow his lead."

She nodded, and made another note. "Very well. Was there anything else?"

I rubbed my chin. "Not really. But I'd like to make a couple of visits, if I may."

"Really." Her voice was flat.

I grinned. "Really."

=/=/=

Lung

I paced back and forth in my cell, not unlike a caged lion. Captivity was not unknown to me; the time I had spent in the rocky prison of the Yàngbân had been more onerous than this. But to be held captive still rankled, and to have been captured with such humiliating ease by an old man and a teenage girl …

I felt the air around me heating, and consciously controlled my power. I did not need to be restrained with containment foam … again. Three times since my captivity began, I had let my temper run free, and three times I had been enveloped in the bitter-tasting foam, held until my rage had run its course. On the third occasion, when I refused to calm down, they had replaced the air in my cell with nitrogen, and I had awoken some time later.

But still, it was difficult to restrain myself. I was not used to being restrained. I was Lung; I was a dragon. It was my right and proper place to be free, to be the master rather than the servant.

"Kenta."

I whirled; it was the man called Security. He leaned casually against the perspex protecting visitors from my anger.

"You," I growled.

"Me," he agreed mildly. He was looking better; no longer did his posture shout of repressed pain, his eyes were clear, his expression bland. Nor did he have the IV drip of the day before.

"You still live," I observed. "I am impressed. When Bakuda sets out to kill someone, she usually succeeds."

Unconsciously, he touched the light dressing on the side of his neck. "It was close, yeah," he conceded. "But no banana. So. I'm back, and as I said, I'm not done yet. Thought about my offer?"

I had done little else during the long, lonely watches of the night. "You were serious, then?"

He nodded. "It's a thing. Pretty soon, not sure exactly when, there's gonna be the mother and father of all knock-down, drag-out battles. No holds barred, no quarter given. We'd like you in our corner."

I blinked. "Who is 'us'?"

He shrugged slightly. "Earth."

I am Lung; I do not get chills down my back. So I ignored the chill that was not there, and spoke again. "Who are we fighting?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You're not stupid. I'll let you figure it out. But do me a favour; don't spread it around. Let me know your answer, next time I'm in the neighbourhood, okay?"

I was silent, thinking. He seemed to take that as an affirmative.

"I will be back," he told me then. "Just remember; the world _is_ changing."

I ignored him; I did not notice even when the door closed behind him. My thoughts were whirling.

_He said that he has dealt with the Endbringers. So who is left to fight? Who or what is so powerful that they call upon me, from my cell, to stand up and fight?_

There was only one answer that made sense.

The chill was back. I ignored it.

_I am Lung. I fear nothing._

=/=/=

Bakuda

I punched the bars; they rattled, but I hurt my fist. I ignored the pain and did it again. "Guard!" I yelled.

A PRT guard appeared in the doorway. "What's your problem?" he asked.

"My _problem," _I told him, "is that I'm in here and you're out there. But I've also got problems with my hair." I ran my hands through it to demonstrate.

"What's wrong with your hair?" he asked, not coming any closer.

That was smart of him; they had searched me thoroughly when I was brought in, but Tinkers are tricky and can hide all sorts of things on their bodies.

They had actually found everything this time, much to my disgust – who would have thought they'd look _there?_ \- but what really pissed me off was that when I woke up, that cocksucker Security had taken off my boot and removed my toe rings, so I couldn't blow him the fuck up. How the fuck did he know to do that?

I brought my attention back to the guard. "It's all rough and scratchy. I'm getting split ends. Can I have some hair care products, maybe a brush or a comb?"

"Negative," he replied, just like a fucking robot. "Standing orders are, you don't get access to chemicals of any kind. We can give you hot water to wash it in. Or we can cut all your hair off. Your choice."

I was about to give him a mouthful, when the door behind him opened again, and the last person I ever expected to see just strolled on in. As large as life and twice as fat, not a care in the world, Security walked up alongside the guard and stood there.

My jaw dropped. "What the fuck?"

He nodded to the guard. "I'll be fine."

The guard didn't quite salute him, but he nodded back. "I'll be outside. Shout if you need me."

As the guard left, Security moved up to the bars, definitely less than two yards from me. I could see the dressing on his neck. It was him, all right. And I had no idea how that could be.

"No," I protested. "No. "Not happening. When I bomb someone, they blow the fuck up. How the fuck are you alive?"

He shrugged. "Eh. It was a dud."

I gripped the bars and did my best to rip them out of the floor. It didn't work. "Don't fucking play with me, you fat fuck!" I screamed. "How did you do it?"

He leaned negligently against the bars. "With, as they say, a little help from my friends," he told me.

I grabbed at his arm, digging my nails in. _"Tell me,"_ I gritted.

That … was a mistake.

In the next instant, he was holding my arm and twisting it through the bars in a highly painful fashion. My face was pressed against metal, and I thought my shoulder was coming out of its socket.

"Sure," he replied, his voice still level and unhurried. "But I need you to listen to me. Very carefully indeed. Do I have your complete and total attention?"

"Motherfucker!" I screamed. "Cocksucker! GUARD!"

The guard appeared around the doorway. "Is there a problem?"

"Nope," Security replied. "No problem."

"Okay, fine," replied the guard. "Don't go breaking her arm now."

"I'll let you know if I do," Security assured him.

The guard disappeared again, while Security maintained his hold on me.

"So," he told me. "You will listen. Again; do I have your attention?"

I told him where he could shove my attention. He moved his grip very slightly, and the pain ratcheted up considerably. Blood ran down my chin where I had bitten my lip.

"Still waiting for your attention," he commented, sounding almost bored.

"Fine!" I spat, along with some blood. "You've got it!"

Immediately, he let me go; I staggered back, holding my arm. "You're a fucking sadist!" I accused him.

"Says the woman who put a bomb in my neck," he observed. "Now. At some point in the future, we're going to be calling on you to make some really big, kick-ass bombs. Bombs that make everything you've made in the past look like wet firecrackers. Think you're up to it?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Seriously? You _want_ me to make bombs for you?"

"When and where we say. And only then and there. And only the type of bombs we're looking for," he told me.

I shrugged a little painfully; my shoulder twinged, but I ignored it. "Sure. Sounds like a blast."

He shook his head slightly, with a look of mild pain. "That was wrong. But you understand the terms and conditions?"

I nodded. "Sure. You didn't have to twist my fucking arm to convince me to do it."

He shook his head. "That wasn't to convince you to do it. That was to convince you that if you try to fuck us around in any way, I will personally pull your arms out of their sockets, and make it so they'll never go back in."

I wiped blood from my chin. "I've worked for Lung. I know about quality-assurance threats."

He nodded. "Good. So long as we understand each other." He turned to go.

"Wait!" I called. "What about telling me how you got the fucking bomb out?"

"Oh, that?" he replied. "That was Bonesaw and Dragon."

And then he left, but I didn't care. I went and washed the blood off my face and then sat on the bench to do some serious thinking. _Big bombs …_

What I could do with the resources of the PRT to draw on.

_I'll show __**them**__ big bombs._

=/=/=

Riley

"_Visitor."_

I looked up from my magazine, to see a familiar figure standing on the other side of the perspex.

"Hi!" I greeted him, dropping the magazine and jumping to my feet. "I didn't know you'd be back so soon."

He shrugged; a bit less painfully than yesterday, I gauged. "Well, I was in the neighbourhood, so I thought I'd drop by and say hello." He gestured at the cell. "But if you're busy ..."

I snorted. "Well, I just finished mopping the floor, but I suppose I can take visitors."

At some unseen signal, the perspex and bars moved aside, and he entered my cell.

"Nice," he observed, looking around.

"Well, nicer than the last one," I allowed. "Thanks for that, by the way."

The cell was indeed a little nicer; there was a heavily-caged TV screen up in the corner, which was controlled by the guards, a sort-of comfortable chair, and a few magazines. Not a den of luxury, but much better than it might have been.

He waggled his hand in midair. "You do me a little favour, I do you a little favour. You know how it works."

I had to smile. "I think saving your life is more than 'a little favour'."

He grinned. "Yeah well, still working on that."

"Come over here and sit down," I instructed him. "I want to see how it's going."

"Pretty well, all things considered," he told me, but did what I had said.

Carefully, I peeled away the dressing; the incision underneath was almost totally closed, and there was no inflammation, no swelling.

"Doing well," I told him, and replaced the dressing. "Keep getting it checked; in a few days, you should be able to leave the dressing off."

"Thanks," he replied. "Now, how you doing in here?"

I drew a deep breath. "Still no fun. Nightmares, but I guess you knew that bit."

He nodded. "I figured. There's a therapist I know of, she's really good. Currently she's got a couple of high-maintenance clients, but in a month or so, I'll see if the PRT will sponsor you to have sessions with her."

I wasn't sure about this. "Therapy?" I asked. "Really?"

He nodded earnestly. "Really. Sometimes it just helps to talk about things. I can do that, but I'm not trained to see what she can see, and get to the heart of matters. So yeah, I think you'll be able to deal better if you see her."

I thought about this. "But it's my choice, right?"

"Totally," he assured me.

I rubbed my nose. " … I don't like being told what to do," I confessed.

He grinned. "I got that already. But it's not like that. You game to give it a try?"

I shrugged. "I guess. But can I have a hug?"

He gave nice hugs; I laid my head against his chest and felt his arms holding me close. It felt comfortable. Like home. Like my daddy might have held me, once upon a time. I felt tears starting in my eyes, and held him tighter.

I didn't exactly cry; a few tears leaked out, and I sniffled a bit, but I wasn't crying. I thought he might have noticed, but he acted like he didn't, and I was grateful for that.

After he left, I sat back in my chair, but I didn't read the magazine. I was thinking about therapy.

I didn't know what good it would do, but if he wanted me to try it out, I'd give it a whirl.

Just to see what happened.

=/=/=

Gladys

He knocked on my door at five precisely. I was ready to go, of course; all I had to do was pick up my purse and walk out the door.

He stood there on the doorstep, offering his arm. With a smile, I took it, and accompanied him out to …

"Michael! Your car, it's been repaired!"

He nodded, looking very pleased indeed. "Danny and the Dockworkers," he explained. "They really did a good job."

I nodded. "They really did," I agreed.

He opened the door and handed me into the vehicle; I settled in my seat, making sure my dress would not be caught when he closed the door.

"So where are we going?" I asked as he got in.

"Well," he suggested, "I was thinking of dinner on the Boardwalk and then a movie. Sounds good to you?"

"Sounds good to me," I agreed. "Let us go."

We went.

* * *

End of Chapter Thirty-Two


	33. Chapter 33

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three: Saturday Afternoon Interludes

* * *

Jessica Yamada leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea. The soothing strains of Bach washed over her, and she breathed deeply, closing her eyes, letting her muscles relax.

She was good at her job, and she knew it. It was why she got the big paychecks. But sometimes, it felt as though she were tapdancing on a tightrope over an abyss. So far, she hadn't put a foot wrong, and she took some pride in that.

She had seen Eidolon in the morning. As with the first session, he had been initially unwilling to open up, but once he started talking, he had found it hard to stop.

She took another sip of green tea. The implications of what Eidolon had told her were … staggering. It was a miracle that the man was functioning at all; she had talked him through it, gotten him to express his feelings about what he'd learned about himself.

He had been heartened by her lack of judgement, her professional detachment. She had learned what Michael Allen had told him what he must do, to amend the situation. They had made a good start in the first session, and built upon it in the second. He still had trouble accepting his role as regarded the Endbringers, she knew, but she was working on that.

_Michael Allen – Security – chose me to help Eidolon, to help Panacea,_ she mused. _I don't know whether to be flattered or terrified. All I know for certain is that if I do __**not**__ help them, the world will be worse off, in a very definite way._

_And I __**still**__ don't know how he knows what he knows. Or why he picked me, of all the therapists available to the PRT._

Without looking at the large, ornate clock on the wall, she knew that it was almost time. _Once more unto the breach._

Getting up, she rinsed out the cup and set it to dry. A muted buzzer sounded on her desk as she was wiping her hands; she shut off the Bach and went to unlock the outer office door.

Danny Hebert stood there, with his daughter and Amy Dallon. "Hello, Amy," she greeted the teenager. "Danny, Taylor, it's good to see you. Come on in."

* * *

They trooped through into her office, and she invited them to sit. "I don't usually do weekend work, except by appointment," she informed them. "But I believe this situation warrants it. So I'll give Amy a two-hour session every Saturday, as well as the regular after-school sessions on the weekdays. Is that okay with you, Amy?"

"Sure," Amy agreed with a nod.

"We're good to pick her up in two hours," Danny assented. He checked his watch. "Say, three o'clock?"

"Three sounds fine to me," replied Mrs Yamada.

"I hope this isn't too much of an imposition on you, Mrs Yamada?" Danny queried.

She smiled. "Please, call me Jessica. I'm used to being called out at odd hours. And your Mr Allen was quite convincing, regarding the importance of this therapy."

Danny nodded. "If Mike says it's important, then I'm not about to argue." He nodded to Amy. "Well, we'll let you two get to it, then."

Standing, he shook Jessica's hand. "See you at three."

Amy stood also, and impulsively hugged him; a little surprised, he hugged her back. He tousled her hair. "Take care, kiddo," he told her.

Taylor grinned and fist-bumped her best friend. "See you in a couple of hours."

Amy smiled back. "See you then."

Jessica saw them to the outer office and locked the door once more, then returned to where Amy was waiting. "Would you like some tea?" she asked. "I have a pot on."

Amy nodded. "Actually, yes, thank you," she agreed. "That would be nice."

Jessica poured tea for both of them, and they drank in companionable silence. She turned the music back on, but kept the volume very low, more for background noise than anything else.

"So," she invited. "What would you like to talk about today?"

Amy hesitated. "Actually," she ventured, "I was thinking – wondering, rather – about what Mr Hebert said. About this being an imposition. I mean, you have your family life, and this _is_ a Saturday."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Jessica assured her. "The PRT is making it very much worth my while." She tilted her head to the side slightly. "It's strange; they were being somewhat problematic, until I mentioned the name Security in relation with your therapy, and then all the objections went away. For a cape I've never heard of, he wields some rather impressive influence."

Amy sipped at her tea. "Oh, he's not a cape," she told the therapist. "But he knows a lot of stuff. And he's a really nice guy."

Jessica nodded. "I'm aware that he knows many things," she observed, without telling Amy exactly what she meant. "But he's _not_ a cape? That's odd. I would have placed him as a Thinker."

Amy shook her head. "I checked him out myself. He has no active cape powers."

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "And yet he knows a great deal of esoteric information. He sounds like an interesting individual."

Amy frowned slightly. "Yeah. But he … got hurt, yesterday, and he wouldn't let me help him."

"Really?" asked Jessica, professional instincts kicking in. "Tell me what happened."

"Well, you probably saw on the news yesterday when Bakuda and Oni Lee attacked Winslow High School ..."

=/=

"Okay," Brian observed. "We're not wanted by the PRT. That's a good thing."

"We're not being paid by Coil either," put in Alec. "That's a bad thing."

Lisa looked at him steadily. "That depends on your point of view," she remarked. "He had a gun to my head, more or less. I like you guys, but I wasn't in this team by choice."

"I didn't like him," Rachel stated.

"You don't like _anyone,"_ jibed Regent.

Rachel punched him in the shoulder, not lightly. "Ow!" he protested.

"Serves you right," Brian told him, with no evidence of sympathy. He looked around at the others, seated on the couches in their base. "What we have to do now is decide what we do next. Suggestions?"

"Keep doing what we were doing?" offered Regent. "It's what we know how to do."

Lisa shook her head. "Not a really good idea. For a start, Coil was the one feeding us jobs and keeping us out of trouble."

"_Using_ us," grunted Rachel, scratching Brutus behind the ear.

Lisa tilted her head toward the stocky redhead. "As Rachel says, using us. And worse, if Security's to be believed."

"And do you believe him?" asked Brian.

After a long pause, she nodded. "Yeah. At least, he believed it, implicitly. He wasn't trying to trick us." She paused again. "And there's another problem with keeping on being villains. He wants us to be safe and out of trouble; I get the impression there's something he needs us to do."

"_He_ wants to use us too?" scowled Rachel. "So he's just another dick."

Lisa shook her head hurriedly. "No," she denied. "Not all of us. Just one or two of us. A job only we can do. Something really important."

"What's _that_ important?" asked Alec dubiously.

"Not enough data," Lisa told him. "But he's got plans. Lots of plans. Some of them include us. Most of them don't. And when he said he wanted to keep us alive, he meant it. He didn't want us to die, just … just _because._ I got the impression he knew us and liked us. Needing our help is outside all that."

"Well, he _did_ speak to Director Piggot on our behalf," Brian conceded. "It would be a bit of a dick move on our part to go back to crime after he's done that."

Lisa frowned. "I just wish I knew _what_ he wanted us for."

Brian nodded. "Yeah. The trouble is, I'm not sure what options we have _apart_ from crime. I'm pretty sure none of us wants to settle down to a regular job after this."

Alec snorted. "Maybe we should apply to join the Wards, like Security said this morning."

They all looked at him; he held up his hands defensively. "Hey, just kidding. It's not like we'd _really _do it, right?"

=/=

"I'm thinking, after we pick Amy up, we go to a movie or something," Danny suggested to Taylor.

They sat on a bench on the Boardwalk, enjoying the afternoon sun. Danny had a hot dog; Taylor had an ice cream.

"A movie would be nice," Taylor agreed. "It's been a while since we saw one."

He put his arm around her shoulders; she leaned a little closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. It was a nice feeling.

"So how are you and Amy getting along with your bugs?" he asked idly.

She took a bite of her ice cream and swallowed it. "Oh, it's amazing," she told him. "Mike gave Amy a few ideas today. She's experimenting with making bigger bugs; the idea is to make one big enough for me to ride. There's also some other ideas that he suggested, but didn't know if they'd work or not. Like a bug that injects a knockout drug, or a hallucinogen."

"A bug that's big enough … for you to _ride?"_ Danny blinked. "Where does he _get_ these ideas from?"

His daughter chuckled. "No idea, but I'm really interested in seeing how they turn out."

Danny shook his head and took a bite from his hot dog.

Michael Allen had set about helping Taylor from the first day he met her; Danny would be forever grateful for what he had done, even on that one day. He knew now, of course, that Mike got his special knowledge from time travel, or whatever the close approximation was that Mike spoke of. _But he chose to help __**Taylor**__ with his knowledge first. I will never forget that._

Even afterward, encouraging her with her superhero career, Mike had been there by her side for her debut into the world of capes. Weaver was beginning to build a reputation; the public didn't quite know what to think about a superhero who controlled insects, even with headlines like BUG GIRL &amp; PRT FOIL BANK HEIST.

When it came to Taylor being a superhero, Danny's feelings were torn between pride and fear; he knew that she would go out and use her powers, come what may, but there was always the danger. On the upside, he also knew that Mike had been tutoring her in the use of her powers, and possible applications thereof. So she was getting the best possible start in the use of her abilities.

"So," he asked, "about you joining the Wards. Was that just a passing thing, or were you serious about it?"

She turned her head to face him. "I'm fairly serious, actually," she decided. "Before … well, before Mike came along, I wouldn't have been. _More_ teen drama, with adults putting down arbitrary rules? Would not have been my ideal place. Plus, dealing with Sophia twice over? No way. But now ..."

He nodded. "But now, you're more confident. More assertive. You've made your name. They'll take you seriously. And Shadow Stalker's not on the team any more."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Plus, I've met Kid Win and Aegis, and they're pretty cool. Miss Militia's nice."

"Look at you," he chuckled. "Get powers, and the next thing I know, you're rubbing shoulders with the capes of Brockton Bay."

She snorted. "Dad, in case you hadn't noticed, I _am_ one of the capes of Brockton Bay."

"True, true," he conceded. "And in case I hadn't made it clear, I'm very proud of you. You've done well."

"Thanks, Dad," she told him softly. "That means a lot to me." Honesty prevailed; "You do realise that a lot of that was Mike, helping me and showing the way."

"And so what?" he asked. "You're the one with powers and a costume. Everyone needs to start somewhere. I'm grateful to Mike; God knows I am. But you and I both know that he has faith in you to be a hero, whether he's there or not."

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm just glad that he _was_ there, that I didn't go villain. I'm a lot more comfortable with being a hero, you know?"

"_I'm_ a lot more comfortable with you being a hero, too," he told her dryly. "Though to be honest, I would have supported you, no matter which way you decided to go."

She smiled and rubbed her head against his shoulder. "Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate that. So you wouldn't have a problem with me being in the Wards?"

He shook his head. "Hell no. In fact, I think it's a really good idea. I know Mike thinks so too. It will give you more friends to talk to, people you can relate to."

"And no bullies," she mused.

"No bullies," he agreed firmly.

"I _like_ that idea," she declared.

He squeezed her shoulders; he liked it too.

=/=

Oni Lee considered his situation.

His eyes were almost totally recovered from the irritation they had taken from Security's pepper spray, the day before. He didn't know how the man had hidden the spray from him during the search, but hidden it he had, and Oni Lee had paid for the omission.

The various bug bites and stings were still swollen and itching – in some cases, painfully so – but these, too, were beginning to go down. Again, he did not know where Weaver had been, or what her range was, but the bugs had still been attacking him when he was miles away from Winslow. He had finally crushed the last of them, but he hesitated to return without knowing what the situation was. So he had gone to the ABB central headquarters to wait for Bakuda to ring or return.

Neither thing had happened; eventually, he had thought to turn on the TV and watch the news.

And so it had turned out; somehow, the man called Security had turned the tables on Bakuda and captured her for the police.

Which left Oni Lee in sole charge of the ABB.

He had no idea what to do now.

Standing, he paced back and forth as he tried to think his way through the situation. His thoughts were sluggish, dull; he could not generate a coherent plan of action. The conversation with Security came back to him: _"__Every time you do it, it makes a new copy of you, and kills the old copy stone dead. And every time you do it, a little bit more of who you are, up __**here, **__is lost. Killed. Forever destroyed."_

He had pointed his knife, a threat. _"You try to trick me, turn me against Bakuda."_

_"Nope. You make your own decisions. Just ask yourself this; didn't you once __**give**__ orders, rather than taking them?"_

He had, once upon a time. But that had been years ago. Many, many teleports.

_Have I truly been killing myself, a fraction at a time?_

He tried to pummel his brain into action. _What would Lung do? What would Bakuda do?_

_Lung would … get angry and grow large. He would burn whoever faced him._

_Bakuda would make a bomb of some sort and blow people up, or melt them, or trap them in a time bubble._

_I can do neither. I can … teleport and kill people. And in doing so, kill myself, a little at a time._

_Bakuda was going to set off bombs around the city and use that as a distraction to free Lung. I do not even know how to set the bombs off as a distraction to free __**her.**_

Oni Lee had no compunction about killing people. He was _good_ at killing people. But to be truly effective, he needed to use his power. Which he was strangely reluctant to do now, after what Security had told him.

He began to grow angry at himself. _Surely I am more than this. Surely I am more than a dull follower, playing at being a supervillain._

_But what can I do, without using my powers?_

The answer was obvious. _Nothing. So I must use my powers. Even if it does kill me, little by little._

_Lung is more important than that. The ABB is more important than that._

_I __**will**__ free them. They will see the worth of Oni Lee._

_Even if it kills me._

=/=

"We must decide our policy from here on," Kaiser declared.

Krieg gave him a sour look. _"What_ policy? We're dead in the water. Each and every one of has been outed, thanks to Coil." He gestured at the room they sat in. "The only reason we can meet here in safety is that it was not on Medhall's books, not connected to Max Anders in any way. Our homes will surely be watched, our families monitored."

"But not attacked or even harassed," Kaiser pointed out. "Your wife and children did not know that you are Krieg. How are they holding up?"

"She's filing for divorce," his deputy replied briefly.

"A smart move," Kaiser praised him. "Distancing her from you. She should be clear of the fallout."

Krieg glared. _"It wasn't my idea."_

Kaiser was brought up short, but only momentarily. "Oh. Well, still, a good move. The less in the way of distractions we have, the better right now."

"Distractions, yes," responded Krieg. "I notice _your_ wife and children were out of town before it even happened. Convenient, no?"

Kaiser restrained the urge to roll his eyes. "I _told_ you how that happened."

"Yes," Krieg agreed, his voice heavy with irony. "You did. They were warned ahead of time by a cape that we've barely heard of. One who spends his days as a _security guard._ One who you apparently confronted last night, but came away with no real answers."

"Because I wasn't _there_ for a fight; he had, after all, done me that favour," Kaiser reiterated. "Also, he had Armsmaster and Miss Militia with him."

"And you had Night and Fog with _you,"_ Krieg shot back. "Who, I note, are not here right now."

"I asked them to accompany me for ease of getting in, and for a show of strength, should one be needed," Kaiser told him patiently. "They are still uncomfortable with rejoining the Empire, especially after they've been outed."

He paused, unwilling to say more on the subject; Purity had apparently contacted the couple, as well as Justin, to give them warning about the possible unmasking. _But she did not contact me._ That still stung.

He looked around the table, in an attempt to change the subject. "But we're not here to talk about that. We're here to talk about what _we're_ going to do to get past this." He nodded to Krieg. "James, you've done well in salvaging much of our assets. But even so, Medhall will be going into receivership, unless we can produce a puppet to take it over."

Krieg nodded reluctantly at the praise. "If we do, he had better be a good one. Anyone who steps up to the plate will be scrutinised down to the microscopic level by the PRT and the regular authorities. Anyone showing even the most tenuous connection to us will be hammered, hard."

"Unfortunately, yes," agreed Kaiser. "In addition, our civilian identities will probably need to be abandoned altogether." A motion farther down the table caught his eye. He looked past Stormtiger and Victor to Hookwolf. "Yes, Bradley?"

"Fake identities?" grunted the former cage fighter. "New civilian identities, same as the old ones?"

"We will have to go that route eventually, I presume," Kaiser agreed. "But given that it's our real faces, not just our names, that are splashed all over the news and the internet, we would have to assume some level of disguise before we would no longer be recognised. So for now, it's our villainous identities or nothing. I rather think that any assets that we held in our civilian identities either have been seized, frozen or are being watched."

Victor raised a hand slightly; Kaiser nodded his way. "You have something to suggest?"

"As you know, I am a man of many skills," Victor responded, with not much in the way of modesty. "Among other things, years ago, I acquired a working knowledge of plastic surgery. If anyone wants a new face, I can give them one."

"That may work on some of us," Kaiser admitted. "Others," he glanced at Hookwolf, "perhaps not so much. And certain among us," his eyes rested on Cricket, "may not wish to have our distinguishing marks removed."

She nodded in agreement; he went on. "And in any case, this is _my_ face. I am not about to allow the mere fact that I have been outed, unmasked, as the leader of the most powerful parahuman group in Brockton Bay to force me to change it one iota. So Max Anders is a wanted criminal?" He sneered. _"Let_ me be a wanted criminal. But I am also Kaiser. And that is still a name with which to reckon."

"So, in other words," Krieg observed, "business as usual."

Kaiser nodded. "Business as usual. But given that Medhall will shortly be no longer a going concern, we will double down on the criminal activity. ABB is staggering, weak. We will focus our efforts on the Asians, take as much territory as possible."

_Security did me a favour there too, _he mused, _even if he did not know or realise it. With Lung and Bakuda out of the picture, the ABB will be so much easier to drive out._

With the thought came the memory of the man himself, talking harshly to Kaiser. Normally, Max would never have let anyone use that tone to him, but the explicit threat of Armsmaster and Miss Militia, plus his own lingering feelings of vague gratitude, had held him back.

_I don't like you,_ Allen had said. _In fact, I despise the whole white-supremacist movement, and I don't know who's worse; the morons who actually believe that a lack of melanin is the true measure of a man, or the hypocrites who encourage that belief in others, just so they can capitalise on the morons._

The descriptions galled Kaiser, if only for the simple-minded – and misguided – belief behind them. Couldn't the man _see?_

_I am no moron,_ he told himself. _Nor am I a hypocrite. I am a **pragmatist.**_

=/=

"_Excuse me, Director. You have an incoming call."_

Emily pressed the intercom key. "Who is it from?"

"_She says … Tattletale?"_

The Director blinked. "As in the _Undersider _Tattletale?"

"_Yes, Director."_

She pondered for a moment. _Could it be a hoax? Could she be trying to get one over on me?_

_Well, I'll never know till I find out._

Picking up the receiver, she pressed the button that would record the call. "Put her through."

Several clicks later, the familiar cheerful teenage voice impinged upon her ear. _"Director Piggot, how __**are**__ you today?"_

"I am well," Piggot replied briefly. "Why are you calling?"

"_Well, me and the guys were talking, and we feel bad about how we broke your window. And your wall. And left your hospitality yesterday."_

Emily took a deep breath. "The circumstances were explained to me. We do not hold you at fault. And while we're on the topic, thank you for the safe return of my troopers."

"_That's no problem. They helped us out, so yeah. Anyway, the one who was shot, how's he doing?"_

"Responding well to treatment, so I am told," Piggot responded. "However, I'm sure that you did not call me up just to apologise, or to ask about the welfare of my man."

The chirpy tone did not diminish; the Director could easily visualise the irritating vulpine grin that the teen supervillain usually sported. _"Well, you've caught me out. I'm calling for another reason. We want to turn ourselves in."_

Her brain stopped working for just a moment, stalled on attempting to make sense of the last sentence. She shook her head. "Excuse me. Did you just say … _turn_ yourselves _in?"_

Tattletale chuckled in her ear. _"Well, no, not exactly turn ourselves in, not so to speak. More like … join the Wards."_

If Emily Piggot had not already been sitting down, she would have found it necessary to do so. Supervillains did not simply call up and ask to join the Wards. This was one of those things that did not happen.

And yet, it was happening.

She caught hold of herself, forced her mind back into operating mode. "If this is some sort of stupid prank -" she began.

"_Nope, no prank," _Tattletale assured her. _"I was chatting to Security, and he kind of suggested that he would be talking to you about the possibility of doing that."_

"But … you're _supervillains,"_ Emily protested.

"_And Mannequin used to be known as Sphere," _Tattletale pointed out, quite accurately.

"You're serious about this."

"_Well, yeah. With Coil gone, we're not gonna have our little safety net any more. Plus, Security went to such lengths to get us out of the crime game, I hate to disappoint him. Also, I __**refuse**__ to take a minimum-wage job at McDonalds. So … the Wards."_

Piggot's head was whirling. "Regent and, uh, Bitch … the murder charges … "

"_Pfeh. Any good lawyer could have those dealt with. Both are minors, there's a Master involved when it comes to Regent, and a trigger event situation when it comes to Rachel. Open and shut. Unless you __**want**__ to pull a Canary on us."_

Emily's lips tightened. She'd spoken to the young parahuman, and reviewed the girl's case. Despite her own distaste for capes, she considered that Ms Macabee had been badly done by, and that Allen had saved her from a short and miserable existence in the Birdcage.

"No," she admitted. "Any trial would be a fair one."

"_Good to hear. Now, I'm guessing that you could slot me and Grue into the lineup fairly easily."_

She couldn't believe that she was having this conversation; it was too surreal. "Theoretically, at least. However, you would be under quite a few restrictions until we were sure we could trust you."

Tattletale laughed easily. _"Until just before the heat death of the universe, you mean?"_

The phrase reminded Emily strongly of the information that Michael Allen had revealed on Friday night. She struggled to reply. "Not … necessarily."

The girl's voice became concerned. _"Wow, something I just said hit you hard. Are you all right?"_

"I'm fine." _Damn Thinker powers._ "Are you sincere about wanting to sign up for the Wards?"

"_Well, it's that or a life of crime, and I don't think Security's finished with us yet."_

She recalled suddenly the list of names that Allen had recited as 'must have'. Tattletale had been among them. _He's been planning this from the beginning. And Tattletale would be easier to control if she's in the Wards._ "I think you're correct," she replied carefully.

"_You __**know**__ something," _Tattletale realised. _"You know something about his plans. He's been talking to you. Last night; he spoke to you last night. It's something that involves some of us."_

_God damned Thinker powers._ "I can _not_ speak to you over the phone about this," gritted the Director.

"_But you'll speak to me face to face?"_

Emily realised that she had just trapped herself. "I … possibly. But we need to speak about Regent and … Bitch, first. If you come into the Wards, with Grue, what are they willing to do, in order to stay out of trouble?"

"_Wait a minute. I'll join the Wards in a hot Brockton Bay minute if it means getting more access to Security's plans. But Grue wants something else."_

"His sister," Piggot filled in. "He wants custody."

She had hoped to catch Tattletale off guard, even for a moment, but it was not to be. _"He told you." _The girl's voice was unsurprised.

"Yes," she agreed. "Grue wants custody of his sister. How old is she, anyway?"

"_Thirteen,"_ Tattletale told her. _"And trust me, with the home situation she's been in, he's by far the best guardian she could have."_

"Hm," she replied non-committally. _"You_ want people to understand that you're the smartest person in the room, Regent wants to not go back to Heartbreaker, and Bitch … wants to be left alone with her dogs."

"_Huh." _The teen sounded vaguely respectful. _"He __**has**__ been speaking to you." _She paused. _"How much of that can you deliver?"_

"I'm the Director of the Brockton Bay PRT," Emily reminded her. "I can deliver as much, or as little, of that as I see fit. My question to you is, if I deliver, will you come in, and stay in?"

"_If Security thinks I should, then sure," _the girl replied impudently. _"Regent's not happy at the idea, but we're slowly convincing him that even Heartbreaker would hesitate to try to take him out of the Wards. And Rachel's not altogether sure how this is going to work."_

Emily took a deep breath. "Security spoke to me earlier. He suggested a single, large dog pound for the whole city, taking in all the strays. And to put Rachel in charge of it. And to help pay for it, she trains dogs for police, the military, drug sniffing, whatever. She _can_ train them for that, right?"

Tattletale chuckled. _"Count on it. If anyone can train a dog to do anything, it's Rachel."_ She paused. _"You're serious."_

"If it would get those damned monster dogs off of my streets, then yes, I'm serious."

"_And Regent? The murder charge? What sort of membership would he have?"_

Piggot grimaced. "As you said, the murder charge probably would not stand up in court. But I don't like the idea of having a Master like him in the Wards … "

"_Shadow Stalker."_ It was a reminder. _If you were okay with __**her**__ in the Wards ..._

She took the point. "Fine. If I partnered him with you and Grue, could you keep him in line? And we'll need to know the exact limits of his power."

"_Oh, we can smack him upside the head any time he starts acting out," _Tattletale assured the Director. In the background, Piggot thought she heard someone yell "Hey!" in protest.

"Good," she replied. "I'll talk to my people for the legal side of things. You make your arrangements, and make sure that you're all agreed. Call me back in one week, and we'll see where we're at."

"_Sounds like a plan,"_ Tattletale agreed. _"Bye, Ems."_

She hung up before the Director could protest. _She had to get that one last tweak in._

_Well, at least it wasn't 'Miss Piggy'._

Slowly, she put the phone down. _Did I just negotiate the transition of a bunch of supervillains into the Wards? Or was I just carrying out part of Michael Allen's plan?_

No matter which it was, the fact remained that if the Undersiders were folded into the Wards, one more gang was gone from Brockton Bay's underworld. The Empire Eighty-Eight was in serious trouble following the mass unmasking, the ABB was missing two out of three of its capes, and now the Undersiders were quitting.

All that was left were …

"The Merchants," she said out loud. "And what are _they_ going to do?"

=/=

Adam Mustain lounged back in his favourite chair, the least ratty of the ones scattered about in the Merchants' most popular safe house. The used syringe lay in his slack, slightly open hand, and his sleeve was still rolled up to show the track-marks on his arm. He stared at the world, at the vibrant colours, the tiny sparks that lit up to contrast one thing from another.

He became aware of someone shaking his shoulder. The world snapped into focus, and he looked up to see Squealer, bending over him.

"Hey, babe," he greeted her, trying to pull her into his lap. "Here for some Skidmark lovin'?"

"No, Adam, listen to me," she told him urgently.

_What's so urgent? I'm here, she's here. It's a thing._ He tugged again, and she fell into his lap.

"What's up, honeybunch?" he enquired, his hands busy.

She giggled. "Bakuda's been arrested."

He was so surprised that he stopped what he was doing. "Pigshit."

She wriggled around until she was sitting upright. "No, it's true. Come see."

And all of a sudden, he did want to come and see. Right now. In fact, five minutes ago would have been better. He stood up abruptly, unceremoniously dumping Squealer from his lap.

Predictably, she squealed as her rump hit the floor, but he barely noticed. Stomping into the room where they had stashed the big-screen TV, he found Mush smoking it up while watching _Ren &amp; Stimpy_ reruns. The wizened little man was rolling on the floor, cackling at the antics of the cartoon characters.

Skidmark grabbed the remote and changed the channel; Mush didn't seem to notice. He just kept on cackling.

The energy was now fizzing through Skidmark's brain, and he overshot the news channel twice. Third time was the charm; he threw the remote down and sat down, then stood up, then sat down again. He couldn't sit still; he stood up again as the news scrolled across the screen. Squealer followed him into the room, rubbing at her butt; he had no idea why.

"I thought you said Bakuda had been arrested," he told her accusingly.

"She has," Squealer protested. "Look!"

He looked at the screen, and sure enough, there was the bomb bitch herself, being pushed into the back of a PRT van. Words scrolled underneath: "Bomb Threat at Winslow Ends in Arrest".

Skidmark suddenly cackled, as discordantly as Mush had, earlier. "Well, fuck my arse and call me Bubba!"

Squealer stared at him. "What?"

He grabbed her shoulders and stared at her. "Don't you get it?"

She blinked. "Get what?"

It was so clear to him. "The big turd and the wet fart, both arrested! The Arse Buggery Bandits are going tits-up in a big way! And we can get in on the ground floor!"

It finally dawned on her. "We can take their territory?"

He kissed her soundly. "Yes! We can be top shit of the shit heap for once! Kaiser and his cocksuckers will be playing keep-away with the pigs, so who's gonna stop us? The Undersiders? Uber and Leet? The _Protectorate?"_

Squealer burst out laughing. "Yeah, _that's_ gonna fuckin' happen."

Skidmark looked at the TV; Mush had found the remote and changed it back to the cartoons, but he didn't see it. All he could see was the Destiny that was unfolding before him.

"Trust me, my greasy little squeeze," he told her, "the Merchants are _going_ places."

=/=

Amy was so agitated, she had risen from the chair and was pacing back and forth. "He says he trusts me, but I've never had anyone refuse healing before who didn't dislike capes! And he could have _died!"_

Mrs Yamada was sitting, watching her, entirely composed. "Do you really think he doesn't trust you?" she asked quietly. "After all he's done for you?"

"Yes. No!" Amy burst out. "I don't know!" She flopped down in the chair. "He got a _supervillain_ to operate on him instead of me! I mean, I know she's really good at what she does, but what she _also_ does is kill people! And he trusted _her_ to operate instead of asking me to help!"

"You told me that the bomb had several booby-traps," Mrs Yamada pointed out. "Do you think you could have removed it safely?"

Amy bit her lip. "I would have _tried," _she admitted. "And maybe I would have succeeded."

"Or maybe not," Mrs Yamada reminded her. "Mr Allen knows a great deal about how your powers work, and about how Bonesaw's work as well, right?"

Amy nodded. "He knows _all_ sorts of stuff."

"Well then," the therapist went on in a voice of reason, "maybe he knew that she was just the better person for the job, in that particular circumstance."

Amy curled up, arms around her legs. "I guess," she admitted. "But I just don't like it."

Mrs Yamada tilted her head slightly. "There's something else, isn't there?" she asked.

Amy nodded jerkily. "Afterward, he went down to where she was in the cell, and … and talked to her. And hugged her. Treated her like … "

" … like a normal person?" prompted Mrs Yamada. "Like someone who deserves to be treated nicely? Like he's been treating you?"

Amy nodded again, slowly. "Yeah. Like that. Like everything she's ever done wrong doesn't matter any more."

"Like she deserves a second chance, perhaps?" asked Mrs Yamada gently.

The words had occurred to Amy before, but now, with her therapist saying them, it was as though a light had gone on in her head. "Oh my god, yes. And Canary. And the Undersiders. Holy shit. How have I not _seen_ this?"

"It's not an uncommon thing," Mrs Yamada assured her. "You're too close to the problem. You're on the inside, looking out, rather than on the outside, looking in." She raised a finger. "Also, before we get off this topic, regarding the subject of him not trusting you."

Amy blinked. "Uh, yes?"

"As I recall, he's extracted a promise from you to not do any healing on people while this therapy is going on, yes?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah. He doesn't want me getting back in the same old habits."

Mrs Yamada nodded. "A wise choice. Well, consider this. He's willing to suffer permanent injury or death to ensure that you don't backslide. He considers your mental health to be _more important_ than his own well-being. What does this say about him?"

Amy's eyes opened wide. Again, these were words she had heard before, but the true import had not struck home until now. "Oh my god. Oh my _god._ He's willing to do _that_ for me?"

Mrs Yamada's shoulders lifted slightly. "It seems to be the case." She glanced at the clock. "Well, time's nearly up for today. How do you feel?"

Amy smiled at her. "I feel great. Thank you, Mrs Yamada." She rose from the chair. "I … can I hug you?"

The therapist rose also. "Of course."

Amy hugged the older woman, and felt herself being embraced in turn. It was a nice feeling, a very _motherly _feeling. _I've been missing this, and I didn't even know it._

Disengaging from the hug, she sniffled; Mrs Yamada handed her a box of tissues without comment.

* * *

They were walking into the outer office when the buzzer sounded on the desk behind them. Mrs Yamada opened the door to admit Danny and Taylor once more.

"Hey, kiddo, how did it go?" asked Danny.

Amy smiled at him. "It went great. I hope you weren't too bored, waiting to pick me up."

"Nah," Taylor answered for him. "We went down to the Boardwalk, just sat and talked. We've been needing to do that for awhile."

"That's good to hear, Taylor," Mrs Yamada said approvingly. "I wish more people would do that. It would save many of my colleagues a good deal of work."

"We'd fallen out of the habit until recently," Danny told her. "But in the last week, we've been reconnecting. It feels good."

"Well, keep it up," the therapist told him. She paused. "Actually … there was something I like to do with my clients. In the office, they're away from their social setting, which can be a good thing. But sometimes it helps to see them _in _their social setting as well. Just to get a baseline. So I was wondering … would it be all right if I dropped around one evening, spent a little time with the three of you?"

Amy giggled. "Observing us in our natural habitat, you mean?" she joked.

Mrs Yamada chuckled. "Well, if you _want_ to put it like that. But really, it would be just a friendly social call. Would that be all right?"

Danny glanced at the girls, then back at her. "Uh, sure," he agreed. "If no-one's got any objections?"

Taylor shrugged. "I have no problems with it. Amy?"

"No, no problems," Amy agreed. She reached out and shook Mrs Yamada's hand. "I'd love to see you any time."

The therapist nodded. "Excellent. I'll call ahead when I'm coming over."

"We'll see you then," Danny agreed. He shook her hand as well. "Okay, time to go. Come on, girls. Let's let Mrs Yamada get home to her own family."

"Goodbye, Amy. See you Monday."

Amy smiled back at Mrs Yamada. "I'll see you then."

* * *

They left the office; as they walked down the pavement, Amy captured Taylor's hand and squeezed it. Taylor grinned and squeezed back.

"So, where are we going now?" asked Amy.

"Oh," Danny replied casually, "Taylor and I were thinking of taking in a movie. What do you think?"

Amy grabbed Danny's hand, so that she was walking between the two of them. "I think that's a _wonderful_ idea." Such was the lightness of her heart that she fell into step between them, swinging her arms to keep time.

It was not entirely certain who started it, but the other two took it up in short order; by the time they got to the car, all three were singing, "We're _off_ to see the wizard ..."

Just as Danny was unlocking the car, he turned to the girls. "So, did you hear the one about the magical time-travelling dinosaur?"

Amy frowned; Taylor shook her head. "No …?"

Danny grinned as he got the door open. "Yeah. He was known as the Wonderful Lizard of Was."

Amy facepalmed; Taylor groaned. "Oh, _Dad."_

And off they went to the movies.

* * *

End of Chapter Thirty-Three


	34. Chapter 34

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four: Moving On

* * *

**Sunday, 17 April 2011**

I wandered through the Weymouth Mall, amazed by the fact that the place could afford to be open on a Sunday. I tried to match up what I was seeing to the descriptions I could remember from the story, then got a sense of _deja vu_, as I remembered doing this at Winslow on my first day.

Somewhere around one of the exits, a different Taylor would slap a different Emma … I stopped to think about it. Not this early in the storyline. A week from now. _Huh._

Barring a catastrophic alteration in events, it would never happen now. And in fact, the confrontation that would in canon have resulted from the assault had already happened, on my first day at Winslow. Emma was no longer bullying Taylor, who was much more confident and happy in herself.

Sophia Hess, the explosive ingredient in the mix, was out of action, awaiting trial for attempted murder. I could still recall _that_ confrontation, the sick feeling as I heard the _snick_ of the crossbow releasing its arrow, the streak of its travel across the few metres that separated us, the solid impact as it struck my stab vest.

_That could have gone so wrong,_ I told myself. _I didn't have Contessa's protection then._

And to be honest, I didn't know whether I still had it, after the information that I had supplied on Friday night. Contessa had not seen fit to tell me if I was still irreplaceable in the grand scheme of things, or if they had it all in hand. _I've given them the bare bones of what to do to beat the big guy, _I mused. _This world has Thinkers in plenty. Maybe they can pull it all off now, without any farther assistance from me._

_Here's hoping. Saving the world is tough work._

I spotted the store I was looking for, and dismissed the weighty thoughts from my mind. Right at that moment, I had higher priorities.

=/=/=

Director Piggot eyed the flat boxes I was carrying. "Board games?" she asked. "Really?"

I nodded. "Really."

"And what do you think that will achieve?" Her tone was more curious than disparaging; I took encouragement from that.

"She needs human contact. Interaction. Someone to talk to, to listen to her. Once we can arrange a therapist for her, I won't be needed so much, but until then … "

"Until then, you're going to go into that cell and play board games with a mass murderer."

"She was _made_ into a mass murderer by Jack Slash," I pointed out. "He knew exactly how to break her down and then build her back up into Bonesaw. I'm doing my best to break down Bonesaw and let Riley be a person again."

She looked dubious. "You're talking about Jack Slash as though he was some kind of Master."

I raised an eyebrow. "He led a team composed of the most violent, deadly and vicious parahumans on the _planet,_ kept them all pointed in the same direction and not turning on him, for over twenty years. You're saying he _wasn't_ a Master on some level?"

That caused her expression to turn very thoughtful indeed.

" … very well," she agreed. "We'll be investigating your games closely, of course. Regulations."

I nodded. "I'd be the last one to argue," I told her. "I'd really hate for there to be something in there that I didn't know about, that causes problems." I paused. "Also, could I borrow a folding table?"

She shook her head in mock vexation. "You try my patience, Mr Allen. You really do."

I grinned. "Yeah, but you love me for it."

She snorted.

=/=/=

The guard pressed the button on the intercom and intoned, "Visitor."

Riley looked around as I entered the outer cell, lugging the game boxes under one arm, and carrying the folding table in my other hand.

The games had been investigated as closely as Piggot had warned me they would be; each piece had been visually examined, X-rayed, weighed, sniffed for drugs and, finally, thoroughly irradiated so as to make sure it was absolutely sterile. Each game had made it through with flying colours, but I wasn't quite sure how many times they would be able to survive this strenuous process.

"Mike!" Riley greeted me gladly. The door clanged shut behind me, then the perspex and bars moved aside.

"Hey, kiddo," I replied. "How you doing? Get these before I drop them, please?" As I spoke, I staggered into the cell proper; she relieved me of the boxes, even as they slipped from my grasp. Behind me, the perspex and bars slid closed.

"What are these?" she asked, looking at the boxes. "Board games?"

"And a folding table," I agreed. "I do not sit on the floor. Not at my size."

She blinked at me. "But … _board games?"_

Unfolding the table legs, I placed it upright. "What, don't you like board games?"

She looked suddenly lost. "I … I've never really played many."

I took the boxes from her and placed them on the table, then hugged her. She accepted it and leaned against me, returning the embrace.

"It's okay," I told her. "I'll show you how."

We both knew why she hadn't played board games since she was six years old, of course. And if she _had_ played games since then, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what the rules were. Or the stakes.

She looked up at me. "I'd like that."

I grinned and ruffled her blonde ringlets. "Sure thing, kiddo."

She hugged me again. "Thanks."

* * *

I picked the bed/bench to sit on, while Riley got the chair. She offered her seat to me, but I shook my head. "I break chairs," I advised her. "That one's suited to your weight, not mine."

Placing the games side by side on the table, I tapped them one at a time. "Take your pick. Building game, racetrack game, thinking game, cooperative game." They were not _exactly_ the same as the games I had known, back home, but they looked close enough to be fun to play.

"Ooh," she said, looking from one to another, her dubious expression giving way to growing enthusiasm. "How about this one?"

I grinned and opened the box. "Let's do it."

=/=/=

When I next looked at my watch, hours had passed. Riley, with her nimble fingers, turned out to be better at me in the building game, but I had edged her out in the thinking game. We had broken even in the racetrack game, and she had thoroughly enjoyed the cooperative game.

We high-fived at the successful completion of the latter, snatching victory from the very jaws of defeat. "Wow," she marvelled. "That was _awesome._ Can we play again?"

I grimaced and shook my head. "I enjoyed it too. But I'm afraid I need to get moving. Okay if I drop in for a game tomorrow afternoon?"

"Oh yes," she agreed. "Can you? Please?"

"Sure," I told her. "Actually, can you do me a favour and take care of the games for me? I mean, _I_ know you're not infectious, and _you_ know you're not infectious, but I'd rather not subject them to decontamination on the way out."

Her face lit up. "I can _keep_ them?"

We finished packing away the game and I stood up. "Sure. I know you'll take good care of them. See you tomorrow?"

She grabbed me in a hug. "Yeah! Thanks!"

I hugged her back. "Take care, kiddo. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

She leaned her head against my chest. "I won't. I promise."

I ruffled her hair. She giggled. "I know."

=/=/=

It was actually hard to part from her, but I managed it. Even as the door swung shut, she was waving goodbye, and I was waving back.

Then, of course, I had to go through the decontamination.

* * *

As I was pulling my shirt back on, the PRT guard turned to me. I couldn't see his expression through the opaque faceplate, but his tone of voice told me enough.

"Why do you spend so much time with her?" he asked. "Don't you know what she's _done?"_

I nodded. "Yeah. And I know that she's a twelve year old girl who's survived for six years in the company of the worst mass murderers on the planet by learning to do what they do. And I _also _know she can be saved, turned to the good. She may not be able to help as many people as she's hurt and killed, but I know she'll never help _anyone_ if that kill order gets carried out, or if you just stuff her in a cell and forget her."

He shook his head. "Once a villain, always a villain."

"Not necessarily," I told him. "And not in her case."

"You're wrong," he told me flatly. "Villains will always turn on you."

I held up my hands. This was not an argument I could win; he had his beliefs and I had mine, and never the twain would meet. "Tell you what," I suggested. "We'll agree to disagree."

"Whatever," he grunted, turning back to his station. "Just don't blame me if she stabs you in the back someday soon."

I remained silent as I left the decontamination area; no answer I could have given would have satisfied him.

=/=/=

Meals were being delivered to the cells as I left the area; this made me hungry, so I decided to make use of the limited-access pass I had been granted, and made my way to the cafeteria. Just as I was entering, I encountered a familiar face; Canary, also heading into the cafeteria, in the company of a PRT soldier. He wore a helmet, but the faceplate was abbreviated to just a visor.

"Paige, how are you?" I asked. "It's good to see you."

The last time I had seen her was Thursday night, just after we'd taken down Coil. She'd looked tired and worn then; now, she looked rested and alert. Her prison sweats had been exchanged for a utilitarian coverall, and there was a spring in her step.

"Mike!" she replied, in that truly remarkable voice of hers. Turning to the soldier accompanying her, she went on, "Joe, have you met Mike?"

He shook his head. "Not to speak to, but I've seen you around. Aren't you that guy they call Security?"

I nodded. "More or less, yeah. Mike Allen." Looking at his uniform, I figured out that he was a corporal; his nametag read MCKENZIE. "So, you're Paige's bodyguard … watchdog … how does this work?"

"Well, I'm a 'special civilian contractor', Canary told me as we headed for the lunch line. "But with a Master talent like mine, whenever I go into a public area, I've got to have a guard with me. Just to make sure I don't try to control everyone in sight, I guess."

"Wow," I observed. "And you're okay with this?"

"It's also for Ms Macabee's protection," McKenzie put in unexpectedly. "The trial was quite public. The last thing we need is a hysterical mob attacking her."

I tilted my head in query. "So how do they know you won't try to control Corporal McKenzie here?"

She shrugged. "Joe's got electronic earpieces in his helmet. They take in my voice, strip out all the overtones, and feed him the basic meaning."

"Damn," I muttered. "That sucks. Joe, you're missing out on a treat."

Corporal McKenzie shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I get paid extra to follow her around, and I'm tone deaf anyway."

"Sounds legitimate." I turned back to Canary. "So, are they treating you all right? And what does a 'special civilian contractor' do, anyway?"

With our trays full, we headed to a table where people moved aside to let us sit. "Oh," she told me. "After the Coil bust, they got interested in the applications for crowd control. So I'm working with Armsmaster and Kid Win to see if they can't replicate my overtones."

I smiled. "Really?" I asked. _I see what they're doing there. Armsmaster to make it as efficient as possible, and Kid Win to make it modular. And probably Dragon in the background to integrate it all into the Endbringer armbands. Very sneaky. I like it._

She nodded earnestly. "Really. It's not as much fun as when I was a singer, but it's _so_ much better than that prison cell." _And the Birdcage,_ she didn't say.

I nodded. "Yeah," I agreed. "Can't argue with that."

I started eating, then a thought struck me. "Do you get harassed much here, on base? Or does Corporal McKenzie keep them in line?"

She shook her head. "They're either polite, or they pretend I don't exist. The ones who were in on the Coil bust tend to be the polite ones."

"Well, you did a good job there," I confirmed.

She smiled. "Thank you. And thank you for getting me out of all of that. For showing them you trusted me. For being there when I needed someone in my corner."

I shrugged. "Hey, I just got you here. You're the one who impressed the hell out of Director Piggot."

She stared at me. "How do you know I impressed her?"

"Simple. You're still here." I glanced at the PRT soldier, who was eating steadily and efficiently. "Correct, Corporal?"

He nodded once. "Correct, Mr Allen."

We chatted as we ate; Paige had a series of anecdotes from her singing days that nearly made me snort my drink out of my nose. Even Corporal McKenzie seemed to crack a smile every now and again.

"Well, it was nice seeing you again," I told her as we finished our respective meals. "Take care, okay?"

She nodded. "You too. I saw you on the news on Friday afternoon. I'm glad you're okay."

I grinned wryly. "I'm glad I'm okay too. Bye, Paige."

"Bye, Mike."

=/=/=

_The PRT is a law-enforcement agency, but contrary to popular opinion, its main function does not involve enforcing the law. What the PRT excels at is in bringing parahumans together to face massive threats; Endbringers are the most common of these, but by far not the only ones. And as such, each PRT Director holds a list of phone numbers by which they can contact – in the strictest confidence, of course – the major crime figures in the jurisdiction overseen by that PRT Director. Criminal capes are, after all, still capes._

_Boston was of course outside Piggot's bailiwick, but a phone call to Armstrong had netted her the number she wanted. She stared at it now, written in neat pen on a file card._

_One by one, she tapped out the digits on her office phone. Twice, she stopped and cancelled the call. The third time around, she carried it through._

_The ringtone burred in her ear. It rang three times before the phone at the other end was picked up._

"_**You have reached the office of Accord. Who is speaking?"**__ For a moment, she thought that she might be speaking to the man himself, but no, it was a woman, very precise of speech._

_Emily cleared her throat. "This is Director Emily Piggot of PRT East-North-East. I wish to speak to Accord on a matter rather important to both of us."_

_The receptionist was a little slow in answering. "__**Madam Director, I see here that you have no jurisdiction over Boston. What is your interest in Accord?**__"_

_Piggot did not, of course, want to divulge certain information over the phone. "There is extremely important planning that needs to be done, and I have been advised that Accord is by far the best choice to approach for this."_

_The receptionist, or whoever she was, did not seem to think much of her evasiveness. "__**Madam Director; in the first place, Accord is a busy man. In the second place, without an indication of your needs, or even why the Director of a local branch of the PRT is calling on a supervillain for aid, I cannot even pass on your request to him. You do understand my position, of course."**_

_The Director pursed her lips, recalling what Allen had told her. "Very well. Simply tell him that we need his aid, and in return we of the PRT will take his Plan and do our level best to see it implemented in full."_

_There was another pause. "__**I beg your pardon. Which plan is this? My employer creates many, every day."**_

"_**The**__ Plan," she replied patiently. "The big one. The one that set him on this path. He will know which one I mean. Just pass that on, please."_

_She hung up, and went back to dealing with paperwork. There was always paperwork._

* * *

_Three minutes and thirty seconds later, her phone rang. She picked it up._

"_Director Piggot speaking."_

"_**This is Accord."**_

_She smiled, or at least bared her teeth. __**Gotcha.**_

=/=/=

Taylor must have spotted me pulling up outside the house; or perhaps it was her bugs. I had not quite gotten to the front steps before she was opening the door.

"Hi, Mike!" she greeted me cheerfully. "How are you?"

"Fighting fit, and twice as ugly," I replied equally cheerfully. Climbing the steps with a bag of groceries in one hand, I offered my other fist to bump; she bumped it. "How's things with you?"

"Oh, you'll love the new bugs Amy's worked out for me," she grinned. "Come on in. Oh, and we've got another visitor, too."

I had noted the car at the side of the road, but I had not connected it with the Hebert house. "Oh, okay. So long as I'm not intruding … "

She grabbed me by the hand and tugged. "You're _never_ intruding. Come on; I think you know her anyway."

I was puzzled. "I do?"

* * *

Conversation was audible from the kitchen; I allowed Taylor to lead me that way. We emerged from the hall into the kitchen, and I saw who the visitor was.

I didn't recognise her immediately, as her back was to me. She was deep in conversation with Amy, while Danny leaned back and sipped at his coffee. All I could really tell was that she was of medium height and had dark hair.

Danny rose when he saw me. "Mike," he greeted me, stepping around the table with his hand out. "How are you?"

We shook. "I'm doing okay, Danny. How about you?"

Amy's face lit up, and she jumped up from her chair. "Mike!" I braced myself for the hug. She put her all into it, and almost succeeded in driving me back a step.

"Whoof!" I complained. "Careful there. I'm a delicate flower."

That got a laugh from Taylor, Amy and Danny, while their guest rose and regarded me coolly. She had Asian features, and was about Taylor's height. I was just putting together who she was, when she spoke. "I know your voice. Have we met?"

I shook my head. "We have not, but it's a pleasure." I extended my hand. "Mrs Yamada, I presume?"

She nodded as we shook. "You would be … Mr Allen, then?"

I nodded. "That's me. It's really good to meet you." I nodded toward Amy, who had let me go by this point. "I'm guessing you're here to see her?"

"Yes, and no," she replied. "I'm here mainly to see how Amy gets along in her home environment, but also to talk to those around her. Your description of her situation was sufficiently serious that I really do want to get the full picture, to ensure that she gets the best treatment I can give her."

I nodded. "I can understand that. I'll let you get back to it, then."

She smiled. "Thank you. But I will be wanting to talk to you later. There are some things I am curious about."

Taylor snorted; Amy giggled. Danny just coughed. I gazed at them blandly, while Mrs Yamada looked at each of them with a faint air of puzzlement. "Did I say something amusing?" she asked.

"Mike gets that a lot," Taylor explained, trying quite obviously not to smile.

When Taylor did not elaborate further, Mrs Yamada nodded, but there was a faint air of curiosity about her. "I … see," she replied. "Would you object to me asking questions anyway, Mr Allen?"

I shrugged. "Sure, I don't mind. I don't promise that you'll get the answers you think you want, but you can ask."

She gave me a measured nod. "An interesting answer, Mr Allen. I look forward to speaking with you."

I returned the nod. "Not a problem. I just need to ask Danny something, if that's okay?"

She smiled. "Be my guest. Now, Amy, you were telling me about your morning routine …?"

Danny looked at me curiously; I indicated the living room with a tilt of my head. We walked through, stopped far enough away that our voices would not be heard from the kitchen.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Does Mrs Yamada know that Taylor's a cape?" I asked in a low tone. "Because I don't want to out Taylor if she doesn't, and I don't want to spend ten minutes dancing around the subject if she does."

Danny nodded. "She does," he assured me. "We talked about it, and decided that she should know. After all, Amy says she treats the Wards, and _they_ trust her."

"Oh, she's trustworthy," I reassured him. "She's really, really good at her job."

"So I see," he agreed.

Taylor wandered through from the kitchen. "So what are you two conspiring about?" she asked in amused tones.

"Nothing much," I told her. "Just checking to see if Mrs Yamada knows about you being a cape."

"Oh yeah," she replied. "I've asked her for advice on joining the Wards, and she mentioned the fact that they have a public relations guy."

"That would be Glenn Chambers," I responded. "He lives and breathes public relations. Image is everything, you see." I paused. "You might want to think about making your costume a little lighter in colour, less dark and edgy. Plus, he might lean on the fact that you use bugs. Bugs are scary, in the volumes that you can use them. He'll push for you to use butterflies and other pretty bugs."

She frowned. "But that's silly. Bugs are what I use. Butterflies can't do much of anything except obscure the vision."

I grinned. "And a swarm of bugs with butterflies around the outside … "

Her eyes lit up. "Oh. Oh _yeah."_ She paused. "Also, is there anything that says I can't use bugs that look pretty but can also do stuff?"

I wasn't sure what she was getting at. "Uh, please explain?"

She grinned. "Suppose Amy made a butterfly with a stinger. Or with spinnerets."

I blinked. "That's … entirely plausible. In fact, I should have thought of that myself."

Danny tousled her hair. "Good going, kiddo."

She blushed pink with pride.

=/=/=

"You deliberately chose to have Amy placed with the Heberts, didn't you?" observed Mrs Yamada.

I took my time about answering; we sat across the table from one another. Taylor and Amy were in the back yard, demonstrating a new bug trick to Danny; from the sounds of it, they were wrapping him in web lines.

"If you're saying I had a specific reason, then yes, I did," I replied. "Several, in fact. You're aware that Taylor was bullied until very recently?"

She nodded. "I am." Her head inclined my way. "I understand that you are the reason that this is no longer the case?"

I shrugged modestly. "Saw something that needed fixing. Fixed it."

"Indeed." Her tone of voice was dry. "You rang me on Friday the eighth, as I recall. You arranged for me to speak with Amy in six days' time."

"I did, yes."

"So you were planning that far ahead to speak with Amy, and to have me speak with her. Were you also planning to have her lodged with the Heberts, back then?"

I didn't see the point in denying it. "That was the basic idea, yes."

"Also, in speaking with Amy, I have discovered that you walked into the bank, and walked out with her, mere instants before the bank was robbed. You also alerted the PRT so that they were able to arrive in time to assist Taylor in capturing the culprits – but not so early that they could prevent the robbery in the first place. Am I right?"

I blinked. This was starting to get a little uncomfortable. Mrs Yamada was delving into topics that I would much rather have left undelved. "That's how it turned out, yes."

"But you knew that the bank would be robbed, six days previously," Mrs Yamada persisted gently. "Why did you let it get robbed? Why did you perform the charade of 'saving' Amy from it, when you could have prevented the whole thing?"

"Because that was the only time and place that I _knew_ I could get hold of her," I replied honestly. "And without the bank robbery as proof that I knew exactly what I was talking about, I could _not_ be sure that she would listen when I told her that I could help her."

"So you manipulated her," Mrs Yamada concluded.

I nodded reluctantly. "For her own good, but yes," I agreed.

"Just as you manipulated Taylor," she went on remorselessly.

I paused. _Had_ I manipulated Taylor? "You're going to have to explain that one," I suggested; my throat was drier than I had remembered.

"You could have told her not to go to that bathroom, or you could have intercepted the other girls on the way there, and given them a warning. You didn't _need_ to let the girls carry out their prank."

I caught myself squeezing my own fingers together, and forced myself to lay my hands flat on the table. "I had to catch them red-handed," I told her, trying not to sound defensive. "If I had warned her, or given them a warning, they would have known I was on to them, and gotten more careful. I had to bring a halt to it, immediately. It had to be over and done. _Taylor_ needed it to be over and done."

"And you needed her to have confidence in you," she filled in what I had not said. "You needed her to trust you."

"Hell yes, I needed her to trust me," I agreed, throwing caution to the winds. "I'm the one authority figure she's ever going to meet, who's both able _and_ willing to effect change on her behalf. I've seen her life, and it's been an endless stream of being disappointed, dicked over, or straight-out betrayed by virtually every authority figure she ever meets. I'm changing that."

She tilted her head. "But why? What makes Taylor Hebert so important? And is Amy so important as well, or is she just an adjunct to Taylor?"

I took a deep breath. "Before I answer that, Mrs Yamada," I told her, "let me just say that I knew you were good. But I didn't realise till just now exactly _how_ good you are."

"So noted," she acknowledged, with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

I thought about how to phrase the next bit. "I'm … running plans on several levels at once," I told her. "I have multiple goals, all of which are mutually compatible, or should be. Taylor and Amy are on a list I have been keeping, and occasionally adding to. They are people who are either in a bad place, or need helping out of a bad situation. I want to save them, help them, give them a second chance."

She inclined her head toward me. "That's a very … altruistic concept," she allowed. "But you mentioned plans on different levels."

I nodded. "Getting Taylor and Amy into a good headspace is one layer of the plan. Ensuring that Taylor does not become a villain, and in fact becomes a successful superhero, is another layer. Getting Amy to therapy with you was part of the plan, as was … your other patient."

"Who is now attending, I am pleased to say," she acknowledged. I noted that she didn't give me a progress report; I suspected that it might be against some rule or another.

I took a breath. "Preparing for potential incoming Endbringer, while at the same time working to end the Endbringer attacks for good. Hoping like hell part B works, while pushing hard on part A."

Comprehension was dawning, and she gave me a sympathetic look. "And you don't have anyone to work with. It's all you."

"You're the first one I've even been able to _talk_ to about it," I groaned, running my hands over my scalp, digging my fingertips in. "Also, the absolute top layer of the plan. Preventing the end of the world. In which Taylor and your other patient _also_ feature, as well as other people I've been helping out of a bad situation."

"And Amy?" she enquired.

I shrugged. "She's a biokinetic, and a marvellous healer. She's also loaded with more issues than a comic book store. She was heading for a breakdown. I need that not to happen, both for her own good, and so if and when the apocalypse event does happen, she's on top of her game. Because there's something that she just might have to do, and I don't want her flinching if it comes to it. And giving her a best friend and therapy is preferable to sending her to the Birdcage to learn confidence from her father."

She blinked. "You're serious."

I nodded. "Before I got here, that's what would have happened."

She didn't speak for several moments. "Well," she observed at last, "you were right about one thing. Those were answers I did not expect."

"So what happens now?" I asked. "Do you spill all to the girls, to Danny?" I wasn't quite sure what the result of that would be, but the phrase 'not good' popped to the surface of my mind and bobbed there.

She shook her head. "No. But I will be watching. Very carefully indeed. Just so you know."

"That's fair," I acknowledged.

She smiled slightly. "And if you ever feel as though you need someone to vent to, you know where to find me." A pause. "And I'd be _fascinated_ to learn how you know what you know, including potential future events. But I presume you'd prefer to keep that information to yourself."

I nodded. "You presume correctly. I really don't want to disrupt the whole world by letting information like that get out."

She raised an eyebrow. "That explosive?"

I was about to say 'thermonuclear', then I paused and revised my description. "Think ... Behemoth juggling tactical nuclear hand grenades."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Then I'll leave it alone. I don't want it blowing up in my face."

"Thanks." I paused. "Though I would like advice on something else."

Her entire pose became attentive. More attentive. "Yes?"

I told her about Riley, and how I wanted to get her therapy. "But I don't know how they're going to go about letting a therapist in there, and I don't know that I'd trust her with anyone other than you, so for the time being, I'm visiting her on a daily basis until Amy's had her month with you." I looked at her. "Any advice?"

She frowned. "She really wants to reform?"

I nodded. "Basically. But the Bonesaw persona is still pretty strong. And she may have dangerous implants still."

"And you trust her not to hurt you when you go in?"

I shrugged. "She saved my life. And I play board games with her."

She looked pensive. "If she's as badly damaged as I suspect, then your visits will be doing her good, but it might not be enough. She may backslide. She's made a definitive statement, agreeing to therapy?"

I nodded.

"Very well. When do you visit her next?"

"Monday afternoon," I told her. "After I finish work."

She made a note. "May I attend then, and meet her?" she asked. "I would like to see if I can build a rapport."

"Sure," I answered. "Just remember that she hates being manipulated. Jack Slash did that to her for six years. If she even _thinks_ that's happening … " I paused. "Just make sure you don't, okay?"

"Thank you for the warning," she told me soberly.

"That's okay," I assured her. "Friends don't let friends step in bear traps."

Her smile was wide and genuine. "Well spoken."

=/=/=

The evening was a convivial affair; the groceries I brought over were well-received, and Mrs Yamada insisted on helping Danny do the cooking. Taylor and Amy and I chatted about bugs, and Arcadia, and joining the Wards. I found that they shared some of my tastes in literature and movies, divided though we were by a generation. Of course, some of the books and movies that they knew were out of my experience, and vice versa; I was careful not to name many movies produced after 1982.

They dragged me down to the basement, where Amy's bug creations lived in a series of cardboard boxes. The first one they showed me was the prototype relay bug, and the mass of eggs waiting to hatch into more. Then I saw the modified black widow, perched in its web, plump with eggs; shown a sample of its silk, I was seriously impressed by the strength.

There was an oversized wasp, which produced a similar substance to ketamine, but the amount produced was so small that a dozen or more were required to put an adult to sleep, according to Amy's calculations. However, even one or two stings would numb a person's hand to the point that the fingers would be unable to grasp a knife or gun.

But the piece de resistance was a bug with oversized eyes and a well-developed auditory capability, and a brain that was specifically set up to process the signals from both, to the point that Taylor was able to coherently see and hear via their senses.

"I know, I know, you said that I would learn eventually to listen in with ordinary bugs," she explained hastily. "And I'm practising, I really am. But for now, with these bugs I really can see and hear from a distance."

"It's cool," I assured her. "You and Amy make a great team, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm certainly not going to second-guess you now."

"But there was the idea you gave me earlier," Taylor reminded me.

"What idea?" asked Amy.

"Butterfly with a stinger or spinnerets or something similar," Taylor told her.

"Ooh," responded Amy. "Ooh.". Her eyes went unfocused, and she held out her hand. "Bring me," she began in commanding tones, " - a _butterfly!". _She paused, and in rather more normal tones, added, "And a wasp, if you don't mind."

Taylor grinned. "Yeth, mithtreth," she intoned. By now, I was chuckling, and Amy couldn't hold a straight face either. By the time a butterfly alighted on Amy's hand, accompanied by a wasp, they had gone through several more lines of extemporaneous mad-scientist dialogue, and Taylor was giggling uncontrollably.

I watched with absolute fascination as Amy mixed and matched the two insects. "It shall have proper mouth parts!" she proclaimed. "And a stinger! And its wings shall be those of a butterfly!"

She stopped to grin at Taylor, who was sitting on the bottom step, helpless with laughter.

"Here, it's finished," she told the taller girl in a more normal tone of voice. "Let me know what you think."

Taylor, still giggling, caused the hybrid insect to lift off from Amy's hand and waft over to her own. She examined it closely, and nodded. "Nice one, Amy," she stated approvingly. "What are we going to call it?"

"Muhammed Ali," I suggested.

"Who what again?" asked Amy.

"Muhammed Ali," Taylor told her. "Wasn't he a boxer or something?"

I nodded. "Former world heavyweight champion. His favourite saying was 'float like a butterfly, sting like a bee'."

Taylor nodded. "I _like_ it," she declared. "We'll call it the Ali bug."

"And just as a suggestion," I added. "Newter of Faultline's Crew exudes a very potent hallucinogen from his skin. If you can get a sample, maybe figure out how to make a bug produce it ..."

Amy and Taylor looked at each other. "Ooh," they said, at precisely the same time.

* * *

At that moment, Danny's voice came floating down from the kitchen above. "Mike! Kids! Dinner!"

"Coming," they called out, about half a second out of sync. Taylor sent the Ali bug over toward an empty box, and we climbed the stairs.

"So," I asked, "do you usually put on the mad scientist act, or was that just for my benefit?"

"Trust me," Danny put in, "it wasn't just for you. It's a bad habit they've picked up.". His grin belied his words.

"But it's more _fun_ that way," protested Amy, with a wide grin of her own.

"And that works for me," I concluded.

=/=/=

The conversation over dinner proper was broad and wide-ranging; I listened more than I contributed, catching up with concepts that had only been touched on briefly in the story. I learned what the three Blasphemies really were, and how the Sleeper had come to be.

It was fun, it was interesting, and like all good things, it came to an end. I said my goodbyes, got a hug from Amy and a fist-bump from Taylor. Mrs Yamada observed this with interest, but did not comment. We walked outside, where she turned to me.

"It's been an interesting evening, Mr Allen," she told me. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

I nodded. "Definitely," I agreed. "It was really good, meeting you at last."

She smiled. "Likewise."

We shook hands; I got in my car and waved to where Taylor and Amy still stood in the doorway. Mrs Yamada drove off, and I headed off home myself.

=/=/=

It was still somewhat before midnight when I got into the flat. I was pleased to find that I had no nocturnal visitors this time; with Contessa's protection possibly gone, there was no guarantee that I would get out of any such encounter alive or even whole. I showered and changed, then sat down at the laptop to spend some quality time with Sveta before bed.

However, as soon as I booted the computer up, an alert popped up for an email message. Frowning, I accessed the message.

It was, of course, addressed to Michael Allen's email address, which was remarkably similar to my own. The sender was Wolfhound Security, Michael Allen's employer.

* * *

"_Dear Mr Allen; due to your recent encounter with supervillains, in accordance with company policy, you are being placed on medical leave for one month. However, as the staff of Winslow High School has requested more security officers, you are being requested to attend and perform site training for those officers being posted to that location._

_Thank you for your assistance in this matter,_

_Carlyle Desmond,_

_Operations Manager."_

* * *

I leaned back and scratched my head.

"Well, bugger."

=/=/=

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**Private message from AllSeeingEye:**

**AllSeeingEye *New Message*: **you planned this didn't you?

**mack0813:** Probably. What 'this' are you talking about?

**AllSeeingEye:** Joining the Wards. Piggot already knew about it. Had plans in place.

**mack0813:** I *may* have spoken to her on the matter.

**AllSeeingEye:** So you were planning this from before you took down Lung.

**mack0813:** maybe.

**AllSeeingEye:** You really want us in the Wards?

**mack0813:** Better than a lot of places you might be

**AllSeeingEye:** Also not as lucrative.

**mack0813:** Also, need you there for another reason.

**AllSeeingEye:** And finally it comes out. Do tell.

**mack0813:** Saving the world.

**AllSeeingEye:** You're kidding.

**AllSeeingEye:** You're not kidding.

**AllSeeingEye:** Fuck.

**mack0813:** Also also. This gets everyone in a good place.

**AllSeeingEye:** Yeah yeah I got it. You know what we want.

**mack0813:** It's a thing.

**AllSeeingEye:** Bastard.

**mack0813:** How so?

**AllSeeingEye:** You're being the smartest person in the room again. I hate that.

**mack0813:** Sorry. I'll stop. But you're gonna have to learn self restraint.

**AllSeeingEye:** Why?

**mack0813:** Because you're gonna be working with two other really, really smart people.

**AllSeeingEye:** To save the world?

**mack0813:** To save the world.

**AllSeeingEye:** I hate you.

**mack0813:** *nonchalant whistle*

**AllSeeingEye:** Okay, fine. You win. Coil. I got it. We all owe you big time.

**mack0813:** More than you know. Bakuda would have come after you.

**AllSeeingEye:** You could be lying.

**mack0813:** Well, she won't *now*, but it could have happened

**AllSeeingEye:** So who am I gonna be working with?

**mack0813:** Well, one of them I'm not going to name on here. Hint: Panama.

* * *

I grinned and waited. _A man, a plan, a canal – Panama. Three … two … one ..._

* * *

**AllSeeingEye:** FUCK!

**mack0813:** Yes?

**AllSeeingEye:** Him? Really? Do you hate me that much?

**mack0813:** You and he are the best there is.

**AllSeeingEye:** I'm the best there is. He's a second rater.

**mack0813:** He's really good at long term. You're really good at figuring out short term.

**AllSeeingEye:** (sigh) fine. Who's the third?

**mack0813:** Someone we both know, or at least know of. "Are you old enough ..."

* * *

I waited; the song reference was fairly obscure. _Will she get it?_

* * *

**AllSeeingEye:** This is starting to remind me of a joke. "Two thinkers and a tinker walk into a bar ..."

* * *

_She got it._

* * *

**mack0813:** "donk, donk, clang – the Tinker was wearing armour."

**AllSeeingEye:** ha ha. So, him and her. And I'll be working with both of them.

**mack0813:** That's the plan. So to speak

**AllSeeingEye:** hah. So do you have something in mind to stop us from killing each other?

**mack0813:** Yeah. When the time comes, you'll get told how the world's due to end, and how you're going to stop it.

**AllSeeingEye:** That has a way of focusing the mind, yes.

**mack0813:** So was there anything else you wanted to know?

**AllSeeingEye:** I have an alphabetised list around here somewhere …

**mack0813:** Haha. I remember promising you one yes or no question, when we took down Coil.

**AllSeeingEye:** I hate you.

**mack0813:** Was that the question?

**AllSeeingEye:** No. Okay, here's my question. Are you a time traveller?

**mack0813:** Yes and no.

**AllSeeingEye:** ARGH!

**mack0813:** You can consider me one, if it makes you feel better, but that's not the absolute truth.

**AllSeeingEye:** What IS the absolute truth?

**mack0813:** If I told you, you may go insane, you may simply deny it, or you may achieve a higher level of understanding of the universe.

**AllSeeingEye:** I'll pick door three for a thousand dollars, thanks Stan.

**mack0813:** heh. No. I can't predict which way your mind will jump, so … sorry. Not right now.

**AllSeeingEye:** Did I say that I hated you?

**mack0813:** The subject came up, yes.

**AllSeeingEye:** Once we've saved the world, will you tell me?

**mack0813:** Bring a big bottle of painkillers.

**AllSeeingEye:** It's a date.

**mack0813:** Anyway, I have to get going, so … laterz, Lisa.

**AllSeeingEye:** Night Mike.

**AllSeeingEye:** I still hate you.

**mack0813:** Yeah. I know.

**AllSeeingEye:** (pokes out tongue)

**AllSeeingEye has left private chat.**

=/=/=

**GstringGirl: **mack! How are you?

**mack0813: **pretty good, pretty good. Ready for some game time?

**GstringGirl: **you know me, always ready.

**mack0813:** I bet that's what you tell all your boyfriends

**GstringGirl:** (giggles) that was bad.

**mack0813: **yes, yes, it was. Now, do you remember where we were at ...

=/=/=

_On Earth Aleph, a late-night bus rolled into the outskirts of Madison, Wisconsin. Most of the passengers were drowsy, leaning back on their seats. One was not; he sat upright in his seat, alert, awake._

_**I'll find you, Krouse, **__he vowed silently, as he had done at least once every waking hour since he had ended up in his world's Brockton Bay. __**I'll find you, and when I do ...**_

* * *

End of Chapter Thirty-Four


	35. Chapter 35

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five: Opening Shots

* * *

If anyone had warned me that my actions of the previous week would result in a gang war, I would have been dubious in the extreme. _After all, _I would have told this hypothetical person, _Bakuda is the one who sparks it, against the Undersiders, and she is in custody while they are keeping their noses clean. Who's going to start it?_

The obvious answer - obvious in hindsight, that is - was 'everyone else'. However, with the Empire Eighty-Eight in disarray, the newcomer Travellers vanished from the scene almost before they had the time to make their mark, and the Undersiders laying low, there seemed to be a distinct scarcity of gangs with any sort of muscle in Brockton Bay.

But the Merchants, discounted by virtually everyone for so long, actually had several formidable capes in their ranks. And while the white supremacists had taken a serious hit, the Empire Eighty-Eight was neither down nor out, as Brockton Bay was about to discover.

=/=

_"Perhaps you should be standing?" suggested Krieg. "To show more power, to make you more imposing."_

_Anders shook his head. "No," he decided. "If I'm seated, that shows that I'm unworried, at ease with the situation. More in control of what's going on."_

"_If you'll excuse me," Victor interjected, "but if I may make a suggestion?"_

_They turned to him. "Yes?" asked Kaiser._

"_If you begin the scene seated," began Victor, "then stand up as part of the speech, it makes you more dynamic. A dramatic motion while you're at it; perhaps if you're wearing a cloak, and you throw it back from your shoulder?"_

_Krieg snorted. "Theatrics," muttered Kaiser._

"_This __**is**__ what we're aiming for," Victor reminded them both. "We're after a visual effect, something that will grab at people. You want everyone to remember the speech, to listen to your words and heed them? You have to make it __**memorable.**__"_

_Krieg looked at him askance. "Don't tell me. You picked up the skills of a movie director, once upon a time."_

_Victor shrugged modestly. "It is what it is."_

"_Whatever," Kaiser told them both. "I'll start out sitting, then stand. What next?"_

"_About your speech … " Victor began._

"_What of it?" asked Kaiser. "I'll just speak. It's always worked for me in the past."_

_Victor nodded. "Yes, but for the most part, you were addressing people who were already aligned toward your aims. Now? You're looking to give a speech to an audience you can't see, who are for the most part neutral, or perhaps even hostile. You want to impress them enough that they at least think twice before opposing us."_

_Kaiser gave him a measured nod. "I see what you're driving at. So what do you suggest?"_

_Victor grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."_

=/=

My alarm clock beeped insistently at me, grating on my nerves and rousing me from sleep. I levered myself out of bed, stumbled drowsily into the shower, and was halfway through breakfast before I actually woke up. I thought back to my conversation with Lisa on the previous evening, and decided to make sure of something.

My laptop booted up easily enough, and I was just about to click the PHO tab when I thought better of it. Instead, I leaned back in my chair and spoke to the empty air. "Good morning, Dragon."

Nothing happened.

"I'm gonna be chatting to you anyway," I told the computer. "So we might as well talk. It's faster than typing."

For the longest moment, I thought that I had miscalculated, but just as I was about to sit forward again, a window opened with Dragon's synthesised face in it.

_"Good morning, Mike," _she greeted me, sounding a little chagrined. _"How did you know?"_

"I didn't," I confessed. "But it made sense for the PRT to be keeping tabs on me _some_how_, _Armsmaster said he'd be taking down his bugs, but whether he has or not, asking you to keep an eye on me keeps to the letter of my request, even if it's a bit shady about the spirit."

She smiled. _"You do know Colin quite well, don't you?"_

"Not as well as you do," I admitted, "but I do know he's a very stubborn man. And very proud. That pride could lead him to make bad mistakes, if he's not careful."

Her expression went quite still. _"Is that a warning?"_

I shook my head. "Not ... as such. The situation under which this would originally bring him down is no longer extant, but another may rise. When he finds out they're considering moving him to Chicago under Myrddin, and promoting Miss Militia in his stead, he may go off the reservation a little, to prove that ... well, that he's still got what it takes to lead, I guess. To make his mark as a hero before he's swept under the rug, so to speak."

She sounded surprised. _"I didn't know they were considering that."_

I shrugged. "They might not even go through with it now, given current developments. But if they do, or if he comes under other stress, it might be a good idea if someone who cares for him, someone who he confides in ... keeps this in mind, acts as the voice of reason. You get what I mean?"

She nodded, looking pensive. _"I think I do. And thank you."_

I shrugged again. "Not a worry. He's a good man; all he really needs is a touch of humility. Of humanity."

A most unladylike snort emanated from the speaker. _"Indeed. I shall keep that in mind. Was that what you wanted to speak to me about?"_

"Actually, no," I informed her. "When I chatted to Tattletale last night, were you monitoring?"

She paused for another long moment. _"I've just retrieved the archive."_

_Which is probably the truth, but she's not saying that she __**wasn't**__ monitoring._

"Okay, so you're aware that you and Tattletale will be working with Accord to formulate strategies, plans, for fighting the upcoming conflict?"

Her voice was brisk, businesslike, all trace of levity gone. _"I'm aware of this, yes."_

"Okay; just so you know, Tattletale considers herself the smartest person in the room, bar none. If she meets someone who considers themselves smarter, she will jab and niggle and tweak them; it's an intellectual dominance thing."

She smiled. _"I foresee no problems in that arena for myself."_

I held up a finger. "Yes, but Accord is much more prickly. To the point of murder. You're likely going to have to keep them both in line, just so they don't kill each other."

She sighed. _"Oh dear. Well, it's a good thing that I do like a challenge.". _She paused for a moment. _"Actually, while we are speaking on the matter, I have a confession to make."_

I raised an eyebrow. "A confession?"

She nodded. _"Yes. I'm afraid I do follow one of your private chats."_

Puzzled, I frowned. "Which one?"

_"The one with GstringGirl."_

"Svet - ah, Svetlana?" I asked.

She nodded, eyes downcast. _"I'm sorry. It's interesting to read."_

"So where's the problem?" I asked. "You're the moderator. I don't mind if you read it."

She seemed tongue-tied, which for a machine intelligence seemed to be quite a feat. _"I - ah - could I play, too?"_

My jaw dropped. "You're kidding." I stared at the screen. "You're _not_ kidding."

Silently, she shook her head.

"Huh. Well. Okay, I'll ask her, and if she says okay, sure, you're in."

Her computer-generated avatar positively beamed_. "Thank you. I really appreciate this."_

"There's something I don't get," I told her. "You can play in any computer game going, on Space Opera or whatever's going online. Why a simple text-based game? What's the appeal?"

_"Because I can out-think and out-guess any computer on the planet, Mike," _she told me frankly. _"But a game like yours adds the human element, makes it fun and unpredictable. I can't hack the code to see what's next."_

I nodded; that made sense, in a really weird way. "Well, okay," I agreed. "I'll talk to her this evening. If she's good with it, you're in."

_"So how long do you think it will take to set up the character? And who will I play?"_

I grinned. "Not long. I have a pre-existing character in mind."

_"The King's Man? Kaelim? I don't know if I could accurately portray him. I know very little about his background, his motivations."_

My grin widened. "Nope. Someone else. Kind of obvious, when you think about it."

Her eyes likewise widened. _"Oh my. Am I -"_

I chuckled. "Yup. You're gonna be playing the dragon."

=/=

_The camera was focused on the form of Max Anders as he sat upon the large chair, in a pose that was both relaxed and alert. The lights came up, showing his face, his expression of grim resolve._

"_People of Brockton Bay," he began. "Some of you may know me as Max Anders. That is no more. I have been using the identity of Kaiser for some years; now, it is my true and only identity, since the treacherous and cowardly unmasking that betrayed the names and faces of my entire family, even down to my infant daughter."_

_As he spoke, metal scales slid over his face, building into a suit of armour that moved like silk when he stood from the chair._

"_But I am not yet done," he went on, pronouncing the words as if they had been carved into stone. "The Empire Eighty-Eight is not yet done. We still have the strength of our resolve, our superior humanity. We will oppose one of the foes to law and order in this city; the ABB have been weakened, and we will strike to end them, once and for all."_

_Raising his arm to point at the camera, he took a step forward. As he spoke, he clenched his fist, and a sword blade grew from it, gradually lengthening._

"_All I need from you is to step aside. Do not stand in our way, and if you are not ABB, then you have nothing to fear." He paused; his sword pointed directly at the camera. "If you __**are**__ ABB, then I would advise you to leave town immediately. If you're too stupid to do that, then … well, feel free to wait. We'll get to you."_

_The sword point dropped, then rose in salute. "Everyone who is not ABB or affiliated with them; stay out of our way and you will not be harmed. You have my word on this."_

_Victor shut the camera off and gave him a high sign. Max disposed of the sword and the armour, and strode forward to see how it looked on the small screen of the camera._

"_Nicely done," the polymath told him. "Pointing the sword was a nice touch."_

"_But it gets the message across?" asked Kaiser._

_Victor nodded. "Definitely."_

"_Then send it away. Every news station, every police precinct, the PRT and Protectorate both."_

"_Won't that be seen as a challenge?" asked Krieg._

"_Perhaps," replied Anders coolly. "But is it a challenge they are willing to take up, especially when I've told them that we won't be hurting innocent civilians?"_

_Krieg rubbed his chin. "Perhaps, perhaps not. We're just going to have to wait and see."_

_Kaiser nodded. "We are indeed."_

=/=

I frowned. "I'm sorry. It's not going to work."

Principal Blackwell glanced at me when I began to speak, then did a double-take when the full import of my words registered upon her.

"What?" she asked. "Why?"

I had saved time by driving to the school; as I wasn't going to be there all day, I figured it was worth the risk of getting my pickup damaged again. In any case, with two of their three capes in PRT holding, the ABB was unlikely to be making much of a noise. Or so I figured.

Once there, I had done the rounds of the school before my replacements arrived. These were Dave Cranwell and Gina Kelly; Dave was fit and muscular and twenty-something, while Gina was a few years older but no less fit or muscular. Perhaps it was my imagination, but when I looked at them, I got the impression that I was being judged and found wanting. They looked like they worked out regularly, and were probably far more up to date on the latest training and techniques. But then, nor had they done Winslow for a week.

We had taken a walk through the school; Principal Blackwell had come along, and she was gratifyingly enthusiastic at the idea of having more security in the school. I pointed out the fire doors and fire extinguisher closets, checking the latter as I went by sheer habit. Dave and Gina got a guided tour of the school, including the break room and where the main classrooms were, which was more than I'd had when I started.

We ended up at the main doors, and that was when Blackwell had dropped her little bombshell.

"We'll have metal detectors set up here, and you'll be checking the students for weapons as they come in … "

She was so transparently eager to show that she had undergone a total about-face on the subject of in-school security guards that I hated to burst her bubble. I glanced at Gina and Dave; neither of them seemed about to object. So I bit the bullet and told her that it would not work.

The look of betrayal on the principal's face made me feel bad for just a moment, but I didn't want her going too far down this path.

"It's untenable," I explained. "Won't work."

"Sure it'll work," Dave broke in. "I've seen metal detector setups before. It's not that hard."

I looked at the three of them. "Have you _worked_ a setup like that?" I asked Dave. "Gina? How about you?"

They both shook their heads. "But it can't be too hard, right?" asked Gina.

"No, it's not hard to learn at all," I agreed. "Done right, it's downright intuitive."

"And if they only man it in the mornings, the rest of the day, they're free to patrol the school," Blackwell put in, to show she was following the conversation.

I shook my head. "Still won't work."

"But why _not?"_ asked Principal Blackwell.

"Because I _have_ worked metal detectors," I told her flatly. "And used the wands. And I've seen X-ray machines in action. And it all adds up to one word. Bottleneck." I gestured to Dave and Gina. "You guys could learn to use them in ten minutes, be fairly proficient in thirty. But each person coming through takes _at least_ one second to process. If they've got baggage that's got to be checked by hand, it's longer. Even an X-ray machine takes a couple of seconds to roll something through, and that's not counting if there's a knife or a gun inside."

"Two metal detectors, side by side," Blackwell countered.

I shook my head. "Which means that no-one's checking bags, and you've still got to be wanding people down and taking contraband off of them." I gestured. "Suppose you have four metal detectors across these doors. Eight guards manning them."

Her voice was uncertain. "The school governors would never approve -"

I nodded. "I know. This is my point. How many students at Winslow?"

She looked at me. "Four thousand, three hundred, and fifty-two."

_Fifty-one, now that Taylor's gone,_ I amended silently. "Okay, divide that by four. Call it eleven hundred, more or less, per archway." A deep breath. "Assuming that our hypothetical guards could process each person through in _two seconds_ – which I can _guarantee_ is not going to happen – that's still nearly _forty minutes_ to process through every single student. Forty minutes, just to walk through these doors, get their books, and get ready to go to class. In a perfect, ideal world. Which is not going to happen."

I could see Principal Blackwell's high hopes crumbling before her eyes. "So what's to be done?" she asked.

I shrugged. "What I did. Walk the corridors. Keep an eye out. Stop trouble before it starts." I pointed at Dave and Gina. "Don't bring your personal vehicles to work. You have a mix-up with a kid, he might just decide to let down your tyres. Or worse."

"Worse?" asked Gina.

I pulled out my phone and showed her the pictures. "Worse."

She blinked. "Christ."

Dave, curious, looked over them as well. "Shit, that's impressive."

"Not if it's happened to your car," I reminded him. "So just remember. They _will_ try it on. Don't believe a word of anything they say, until it's verified by outside evidence. Don't go anywhere alone, at least for the first week."

"_You_ did it alone for a week," Dave protested.

"I didn't have anyone on with me," I pointed out. "And they tried to have me beaten up anyway. You got radios?"

Gina nodded. "I've got a set."

"Good," I told her. "Set the chargers up in the security room. Never go anywhere without them, just in case you get split up."

Gina nodded, as if she were talking mental notes. Dave didn't seem to be so impressed.

"So … we're just walking around, making sure no-one causes trouble?" he asked.

I nodded. "You've got it. Ninety percent of our work is simply being visible."

"And the ten percent?"

I shrugged. "Act first, act decisively, back each other up and don't be afraid to drag someone in front of the principal."

"That's right," Blackwell put in unexpectedly. "On his first day, he had three girls put on suspension."

"Which reminds me," I added. "You do have voice recorders, yes?"

Gina nodded; Dave looked dubious. "What do we need those for?"

Principal Blackwell stared at Dave. I looked at Gina. "How many do you have?"

"Uh, one," she replied, fishing it out.

"Get another one," I told her bluntly. "Dave, get two. Keep them freshly charged. You two will be working in an environment full of teenagers, including teenage girls. Some of these sweet little darlings will be all too willing to accuse you of basically anything under the sun, if it will get them out of trouble. A voice recorder is your get out of jail free card. _Always be recording."_

Dave stared at me. "Are you serious?"

Principal Blackwell snorted undecorously, then turned it into a cough. "Excuse me. Yes, young man. He is serious. I would advise you to heed his words."

"Why, Ms Blackwell," I observed jokingly, "that sounds almost as though you like me."

She stared at me challengingly. "Mr Allen, I _don't _like you. Since you started at Winslow, you've caused me no end of headaches. But you don't let anything get in the way of doing your job, and I have to respect that."

"That's the general idea," I agreed, then turned to my replacements. "The kids will try to talk to you, build a rapport. Be polite, but distant. Don't let them distract you. Don't let them know your first name, or they _will_ use it. Let one kid get away with one thing, no matter how persuasive he is, no matter how cute she is, and they'll all want a free pass. If you think they're up to something, they probably are. Got it?"

Gina nodded. Dave continued to look dubious. "Question?" I asked him.

He frowned. "You're acting like they're all convicted felons or something. Why are you even talking about metal detectors? This isn't a prison. It's a _school_. They're just _kids._"

I looked at Blackwell. "Really?". What I meant was, _You brought this idiot into Winslow without even telling him what the place is like?_

The message came through loud and clear; she looked as though she had bitten into something sour. "Mr Cranwell, this is _Winslow High School._ More active recruiting goes on for the city's gangs inside this school than any other place in the city. If the children you encounter here aren't convicted felons, there's a better than average chance that they will be before they turn eighteen." She cleared her throat. "Which is why you're going to be enforcing this as well."

She handed a sheet of paper to Dave, and another to Gina. I didn't get one, but I put on my glasses and read Gina's over her shoulder.

When I'd finished it, I looked up at Principal Blackwell. "That's not going to work either, not exactly as you've got it written."

She stared at me; it was as if I'd kicked her favourite puppy. "But – this is what the school _needs._ You, of all people, should understand _that."_

"I do understand it; trust me on that," I assured her. "But there's things about that -"

I looked around. The first students were beginning to arrive, looking at Dave and Gina curiously. "We need to talk about this in private," I suggested.

Blackwell nodded. "My office," she told us.

"The girls on suspension?" I still had to escort them to their classroom.

"Given their actions on Friday, I've decided to let them off the rest of it," she informed me.

I nodded. "Hm. Okay. Let's go."

=/=

_Taylor walked in through the gates of Arcadia for the first time. Danny had driven her in this time, along with Amy, which meant that they'd been able to take a leisurely breakfast, without needing to worry about catching the bus. Amy had convinced her to wear something bright, uplifting. It had worked; as she entered the school proper, her spirits were already high._

_Amy led them to the office; a woman with bleached blonde hair rose from behind a desk; there was a plaque on it that read VICE PRINCIPAL. "Good morning, Amy," she greeted the biokinetic. "These are the Heberts?"_

_Amy nodded. "Good morning, Ms Howell," she replied. "Yes, they are."_

_Danny put out his hand. "Danny Hebert. This is my daughter, Taylor."_

_Ms Howell shook Danny's hand, then Taylor's. "Welcome to Arcadia. Please, have a seat. This will only take a moment."_

"_Excuse me, Ms Howell," Amy interjected politely. "I'll just be going. See you later, Taylor."_

"_See you, Amy," Taylor replied. The two girls bumped fists, then Amy left, closing the door behind her._

_Vice Principal Howell cleared her throat. "I'm told that you're a cape, Ms Hebert."_

_Taylor, startled, blinked. "Uh, yes, Ms Howell, I'm -"_

_The Vice Principal held up a hand. "I don't need to know who you are," she forestalled her. "Although I can make a guess." She paused. "We normally only extend this courtesy to Wards, but I understand from Director Piggot that you are considering joining … ?"_

_Taylor and Danny glanced at one another, then Taylor looked at Ms Howell. "Uh, yes, actually," Taylor admitted. "I was going to go in this afternoon and get it done."_

_Vice Principal smiled. Her face was unattractive, but Taylor felt no hostility from her. "That's good to hear. Now, as you are probably well aware, Arcadia has a reputation for being __**the**__ school that Wards attend. Which is not entirely true, but it does mean that any time there's a problem, some of our students get pulled out of class so that they can attend the crisis."_

_She raised a finger. "To prevent people from using this to determine who's in the Wards, the solution we've arrived at is to not pull all of the Wards out of class at any one time, and to pull __**extra**__ students from class, at random times of the day. Most times, those students go to an empty classroom and study, alone, for the rest of the period."_

"_Extra students?" asked Taylor._

_Howell nodded. "Yes. We tend to pick out a couple of students who fit the physical appearance of a Ward and pull them at random, when we're also pulling that Ward. In addition, we pull a couple who __**don't**__fit that profile, just to keep people guessing."_

_Danny nodded. "That makes a certain amount of sense," he agreed. "But what if they need __**all**__ the Wards?"_

_Taylor had been wondering that herself; she waited for the answer._

"_In which case," replied Howell, "we pull all the lookalikes, plus some others, keep them as separated as we can so that they can't compare notes, and call their parents to take them home. They get a day off school; no-one complains."_

_Taylor frowned. "Does anyone seriously try to find out the secret identity of a cape at Arcadia?" she asked._

"_We strongly discourage it," Ms Howell informed her. "However, there are always those who want to find out secrets. Or someone might decide they have a crush on one cape or another, and want to meet him or her in civilian guise. So we try to make it as hard as possible."_

"_So what happens with Taylor?" asked Danny practically. "She's not a Ward – yet."_

"_This is true," agreed Vice Principal Howell. "But the intent to join is there. We will not be revealing any secret identities to you, and nor will yours be outed to them, but if you wish, you can be placed on the same scheme."_

"_It might look a little too suspicious," objected Taylor. "I show up, and I get pulled out of class on the same day?"_

_Howell smiled again. "We make a practice of pulling __**all**__ our new students sometime during the first week, whether the Wards are called in or not. Also, as I noted, not all of the students we pull from class are specific matches to Wards in build." She turned to Taylor. "Did you bring your costume, how long does it take you to costume up, and what sort of privacy do you need?"_

_Taylor blinked. "Yes, a few minutes, and I need to strip down to underwear." She hefted her bag slightly._

_The Vice Principal nodded. "A closed-room job, then. That's fine. We don't have any female Wards at the moment; Shadow Stalker goes to school elsewhere, and Vista is still in middle school." She paused. "Glory Girl and Panacea, of course, have open identities, so we don't need to worry about the masquerade in their case."_

_Taylor noted the reference to Shadow Stalker; it seemed that the news of her arrest was not yet public knowledge. __**The PRT are probably trying to figure out how to spin it to their benefit, **__she thought cynically._

"_Excuse me," Danny put in, "but do all your teachers know who the Wards are?"_

_Howell shook her head. "No. They just know that certain people get pulled at certain times. Some of them do know; our physical education teacher, for one. If a certain student needs to be excused due to a healing injury, then Mr Janssen knows not to pry too deeply."_

_She tilted her head, listening; Taylor's bugs detected a mass of people entering the school. "It seems that the majority of our students have arrived. Do you have any more questions?"_

_Taylor glanced at her father, then back at the Vice Principal. "Uh, I don't know exactly what grade I've been assigned to, and I didn't get a book list, so I don't have my books yet," she confessed. "It's probably just a mix-up -"_

_Howell shook her head. "No mix-up. You'll be spending the first few periods testing out to see where you fit into our curriculum. After that, we'll assign you the books you'll need."_

_She handed Taylor several pieces of paper. "You've been assigned to Mrs Richardson's home room for the time being. You'll go from there to do your testing. Here's a map of the school, with your locker marked on it. And that Post-it has your locker combination on it." She paused, her expression sympathetic. "I have heard of your experiences, and if you don't wish to use a locker, that's your choice, but I can assure you, no-one at Arcadia is going to pull anything like that on you. We have a one hundred percent zero tolerance policy on that sort of thing."_

_Taylor swallowed. "I think I can manage to use a locker," she stated._

_The Vice Principal nodded. "Atta girl," she replied with a smile. "And once more, welcome to Arcadia."_

"_Thank you," replied Taylor, rising from her chair. She swapped the papers to her left hand, and shook Howell's hand with her right. "I'm glad to be here."_

_Danny shook hands with the Vice Principal as well, then they exited the office._

"_Well then, kiddo," he told her. "You're officially enrolled at Arcadia. How does it feel?"_

_Taylor blinked. "Different," she told her father. "Weird."_

_He nodded wisely. "Sounds about right. Let's go find your locker so you can stash your bag, then I've got to get going."_

_She gave him a grin, then consulted the map. Vice Principal Howell had thoughtfully put a red dot and a "You are here" at the Vice Principal's office. She located the X marking her locker, and oriented herself. "Looks like it should be down this way," she decided._

_Heads together, consulting the map, they moved off down the corridor._

=/=

I sighed. "Principal Blackwell. What's the best way to make a bunch of rebellious teenagers want to do something?" I paused a beat, and then answered my own question. "Tell them not to do it. I'm not saying that they'll get more recruits – they probably won't – but you do _not_ suppress this sort of thing by banning gang recognition signs and passwords."

Gina nodded. "They'll just pick another recognition sign. Suppress that, they'll pick a third one. Pretty soon, you'll be banning certain tunes, hopping on one foot, and scratching your left ear while rubbing your nose."

"But gang insignia -" began Blackwell.

"So long as it's blatant," I agreed, "sure, tell 'em not to wear it. Bandannas in the ABB colours, anything with a Merchant sign on it, neo-nazi symbols on clothing or jewellery. You can't expel someone for a tattoo they got when it was still legal, but you _can_ compel them to cover it up." I pointed to my own scalp. "However, you _do _realise that the main recognition signal for Empire Eighty-Eight is a shaved head, right? I cut my own hair really close, for my own reasons. You can't _make_ a student grow hair."

"I … what happened on Friday … " Principal Blackwell ran out of steam at that point.

"Was bad, yes, but not the fault of the ABB kids on site," I reminded her. "In fact, I've got them agreeing not to fight on the premises. That's a good start, I think."

"And how did you do that?" She paused, reconsidering. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know the details."

I took the notice from Gina and looked it over again. "This really isn't workable, not with the resources you've got at hand. But there's something you can do to dramatically cut down on ABB membership, and it won't cause anywhere near the same amount of problems."

All three of them looked at me. "And what's that?" asked Blackwell.

I cleared my throat. "Institute 'random' medical checks for all students, but make sure that all potential – and current – ABB recruits are checked early." I turned my head to the left and tilted it so they all saw the scar. I wasn't sure what Riley had done, or if Amy had sneaked in some under-the-table healing, but it was almost fully healed. "If they've got a scar like this, then refer them to the PRT, on the quiet. Also, their adult relatives."

_Which reminds me; I need to check with the other schools in Brockton Bay as well. Immaculata, for sure._

"Wait a minute," Principal Blackwell interjected. "Does a scar like that mean the person has a _bomb_ in their _head?"_

I waited a few seconds, then raised a finger. "Take a deep breath." Again, I waited, to make sure she did what I said, before I spoke.

"Yes," I told her. "But those bombs can _only_ be set off by Bakuda. And I deprived her of the trigger system she uses before I did anything else."

"How do you know you succeeded?" she demanded.

I grinned at her. Or showed my teeth. One of the two. "Because I'm _still here,"_ I stated flatly.

She blinked, and the other two were looking at me with emerging puzzlement and respect.

"There's someone at the PRT building who can take those bombs out with relative ease and safety," I went on. "I bet once they lose the bombs, they won't be quite so thrilled to be with the ABB. Especially now that Bakuda's under wraps."

Blackwell made a note; I continued. "Actual gang activity is something else. Bullying, drug dealing, drug _use_, brandishing weapons, that's something you can crack down on. Make it as unpleasant as possible for them, and they'll move the activities off campus. Just no blanket suspensions or expulsions; once they leave here, any chance they've got of getting an education and getting their head straight is _gone."_

Principal Blackwell made another note. "I'll take that under advisement, Mr Allen," she told me. "Is there anything else you think Mr Cranwell and Ms Kelly need to know?"

I looked at Dave and Gina. "Nothing I don't think they'll learn on their own." I tilted my head. "Come on, guys. I usually watch the thundering herd as it comes in. Show the flag, so to speak." A nod to the principal. "Ms Blackwell. I'll see you around."

"Indeed, Mr Allen," she agreed; by the time I was out the door, she was already booting up her computer.

"So wait," Gina asked as we headed along the corridor to the main doors. "You took on _Bakuda?"_

"And Oni Lee," I added. "Not the best experience in the world. I would not recommend it."

"Did she really put a _bomb_ in your _head?"_ asked Dave, mildly aghast.

I turned slowly to face him; when I spoke, I kept my face and expression casual. "As I said, not the best experience in the world." The casualness was forced; in my head, I was reliving it all over again. I wanted to throw up, or bang my head against the wall. I did neither.

"How did you get it out?" asked Gina. She paused. "You _did_ get it out, right?"

I nodded. "It's out. As for how … the PRT's got someone who can do it. Like I said."

"Who?" asked Gina.

"Can't say," I replied.

"What, you don't know?" Dave sounded incredulous. "How can you not know?"

"No," I told him patiently. "I _can't say."_ _Bonesaw took it out_ would not sound good.

"Ah, right," Gina commented, suddenly getting it. "Dave, drop it."

"But -" began Dave, before shutting up, just as a large bunch of students came past us. Many of them stared at me curiously.

"Hey, big man," one of them said to me; I recognised him as one of the Empire Eighty-Eight boys.

I nodded in return. "Morning. You guys gonna play up today?"

He shook his head. "Nah. We been told to keep our heads down. Anyway, you cool. You took down that bitch Bakuda."

"No comment. Just remember – start a fight, even with the ABB, and you're the ones getting your heads kicked in. Got it?"

He nodded earnestly. "Got it. Later, big man."

He walked off with his friends, shoving and joshing between themselves. Gina and Dave stared at me. I stared back. "What? I _told_ you they agreed not to fight."

"Yeah," Gina pointed out practically, "but we're the ones who gotta do the head-kicking, seeing as you're going off on medical leave."

I shrugged. "I've done the basics. Up to you to make sure things stay quiet."

I became aware of someone standing at my elbow. I looked around; Emma stood there, with Madison back just a little way. Julia was nowhere to be seen.

"Miss Barnes," I greeted her politely.

"I've got something to say to you," she told me in a rush.

I wasn't quite sure what that might be, but I shrugged. "So say it."

She took a deep breath. "I know why you did it."

I paused, waiting for her to elaborate, then asked, " … and what is it I'm supposed to have done?"

"Everything. Stopped us from bullying Taylor. Went into the school to save me." She paused. "I _know_ why you did it, now."

I raised an eyebrow. "For the same reason that you did what you did for Gladly?"

Slowly, she nodded. "... yeah. Because that."

"Good," I told her levelly. "Just remember. One good deed doesn't balance out eighteen months of being a total bitch. You want absolution for that, you keep it up for eighteen months. Then come and see me."

She blinked a couple of times. "I … yeah. I got it." She seemed to be struggling to say something. I waited. Eventually, she managed to get out out. "Can you pass on a message to Taylor when you see her? Can you tell her I'm sorry? I mean, really, truly, absolutely sorry for what I did to her?"

Slowly, I shook my head. "Nope. That's something you're going to have to do on your own. I don't do other peoples' dirty work for them. Sorry."

She bit her lip. "Okay." As she began to turn away, I held up my hand. "Emma."

She turned back. "Yes?"

"I approve of the sentiment. But she really needs to hear it from you. Okay?"

A weak smile crossed her face. "Thanks."

And then she was gone, into the crowds. Madison gave me an unreadable look, then followed.

Gina stared at me. "What the hell was _that_ about?"

I shook my head; all of a sudden, I was tired of answering questions. "Ask Blackwell. She was there." Leaving them staring at my back, I turned and walked from the school.

I hoped that Dave and Gina could do their job properly. Because I didn't want to come back.

=/=

"_Everyone! Hey! Up! Everyone!" Squealer turned to Skidmark. "They don't want to get up."_

_He grinned at her with his horrible teeth. "You just have to ask them the right way."_

_She braced herself for what was to follow, and she was right to do so; when he spoke next, he released the most blistering profanity that she had heard in some time, even from Skidmark himself when he'd trodden on a discarded soldering iron._

_The Merchants roused themselves under his invective, and gradually began to get themselves organised. There were wristbands being passed out, and each volunteer put one on. These bands, made of cheap plastic, would show up the Merchants wearing them to have taken part in what Skidmark called The Great Slanteye Land Grab._

"_Okay, you festering anal boils," Skidmark told them, in an almost fatherly tone, "get out there and kick the mother-buggering guts out of any ABB quim-jockeys you happen to see. By sunset, I want the Merchants to __**own**__ the ABB turf."_

_And so the Merchants went forth to do his bidding._

=/=

_Vicky looked up from a group of her friends to see Amy enter the classroom. "'Scuse me, 'scuse me," she told them, pushing her way through the crowd. "Ames!"_

_Amy looked around and saw her; she smiled, and Vicky returned it. "Hey, Vicky. Miss me?"_

_Vicky hugged her tightly. "Miss you?" she replied. "You're my __**sister.**__ Of course I missed you. Where've you been? Mom's been really close-mouthed about what's going on."_

_Amy rested her forehead against Vicky's for a moment. "I can't really tell you," she told Vicky regretfully. "Sorry. I've got … things to work out. So I'm staying with … friends. Until I work them out."_

_Vicky stared at her. "That makes absolutely no sense," she complained. "What things? What friends? I rang around all our friends, and no-one knew where you were."_

_Amy took a deep breath. "I'm all right. Really I am. I'm staying with a friend who's just moved to Arcadia. I'll introduce you to her at lunchtime. She's really nice."_

"_Huh. Okay." Vicky was no fool; she'd seen the difference in Amy's behaviour since the last she'd seen her, which had been on Friday, at school. Amy had not come home Thursday night, but Vicky hadn't had the chance to ask her why. __**Now I know.**_

_**Amy's … changed. She's different. Quieter. Happier.**_

_**What's going on?**_

=/=

I climbed into my pickup – undisturbed, this time – and strapped myself in while thinking about my next move. I hadn't seen Gladys yet; I took the time to send her a quick text.

SORRY NOT AT SCHOOL TODAY. MEDICAL LEAVE. GUARDS ARE GINA AND DAVE. TRY NOT TO BE TOO HARD ON THEM. CHEERS, MIKE. PS SATURDAY NIGHT WAS FUN.

Moments later, a reply came back. I could imagine her smiling as she sent it.

WILL TRY TO STRUGGLE BY. THANKS FOR HEADS UP. WILL SAY HI WHEN I SEE THEM. TALK TO YOU LATER. PS YES IT WAS.

I put my phone away, turned the engine over, and drove out of the Winslow grounds.

_I'll go home first,_ I decided. _Change out of uniform. Maybe go shopping. Wow, I've got the month free._ I grinned. _Boy, is Sveta going to be surprised._

The first intimation I had that things were not all as they should be was when I turned a corner and saw about two dozen people wearing gang colours in a full-on brawl in the middle of the road. I braked, of course, and tried to make sense of the sight. I spotted red and green colours, and the leather jackets and shaven heads of Empire Eighty-Eight.

"Oh shit," I muttered, realisation hitting me in the back of the head like half a brick. "They've got nothing to lose, so they're going all out."

Who 'they' were, I wasn't sure; one faction or both, it didn't matter. I pulled out my phone and dialled 9-1-1.

"_Your call is important to us. Please hold; we will get to you shortly."_

"Great," I muttered, watching the ongoing brawl with some trepidation. "How many _other_ places is this happening?"

And then I felt the tap on my shoulder. I looked around, into the impassive face of a spectacularly pretty woman in Valkyrie armour. She was carrying a spear taller than herself.

"Uh … Fenja?" I ventured.

She shook her head, curtly. "I am Menja. Get out of the car. Kaiser would speak with you."

And I couldn't really argue.

=/=

_Taylor sat in the examination room, filling out the paper in front of her. Some of the material she knew, some she did not. "Don't worry if you don't know it all," Mrs Richardson had assured her. "This is to show where you're to be placed." She had given Taylor a kindly smile before leaving the examination room._

_Taylor's introduction to her new home room had been interesting. She had walked into the room, and immediately, Mrs Richardson had invited her up to the front. The teacher, a silver-haired lady in her sixties, had introduced her to the class as "Taylor Hebert, who's just transferred from Winslow."_

_She had then invited questions from the class. Taylor had not known what to expect, and wasn't sure if she liked the idea of being out in front of everyone like this, but the looks she was getting were not hostile._

_As could be expected, the questions were direct. "Why did you transfer to Arcadia?"_

_She had grinned and shot back, "Why not?"_

_That raised a laugh; who __**wouldn't **__transfer to Arcadia, if they had the chance?_

_The boy had rephrased the question. "Yeah, but why did they let you?"_

_She nodded. "Bullying. They couldn't stop it happening, so they transferred me out."_

_A girl called out, "Are you a cape?"_

_She had half expected this; any new transfer was likely to be suspected. "Sure," she told the class. "I'm Alexandria, can't you tell?" The wave of laughter redoubled as she flexed her modest biceps._

_Mrs Richardson, chuckling despite herself, quieted the class with a wave of her hand. "That'll be enough for the time being," she commented. "Taylor, if you can just find a desk?"_

_There was one such, down at the back of the classroom; Taylor moved in that direction, being greeted by her new classmates as she went. Some of them nodded; others offered high-fives._

_As she sat down, the boy in the next desk leaned over. "Hi," he murmured. "I'm Chris."_

_She gave him a smile in return. "Hi, Chris. Pleased to meet you."_

=/=

_Once the bell for class had rung, she had been escorted by Mrs Richardson to the examination room, and provided with the papers she was to be tested on. She had settled down and gotten to work; she wanted to prove that, even though she was a superhero, she deserved her place in Arcadia._

_However, barely five minutes had passed before someone spoke from the doorway._

"_Ms Hebert."_

_Taylor looked up from the paper. There was a teacher at the door, motioning to her. "Leave that. You have to come with me."_

_She got up from the desk and exited the examination room. "Wow," she commented. "That was fast. I would've expected you to wait till I was in class before pulling me."_

_The teacher shook his head. "This is not a drill. Please collect your costume and get changed. There is a PRT transport inbound."_

_Taylor blinked. "What? Why? What's happened?"_

_He told her; collecting her scattered wits, she hustled with him to her locker, where she collected her bag, and then to a convenient washroom._

* * *

_As she changed, she tried to make sense of what she'd been told._

_**Gang war? How did this happen? Mike didn't say anything about this.**_

_She felt a shortness of breath, a feeling of insecurity. __**Mike's not here this time. I'm on my own.**__ Remembering the praise, the fist-bumps, she forced herself to breath deeply. __**He has faith in me. Dad has faith in me. I can do this.**__ The apprehension faded a little, but the tension remained. She began to gather bugs, even as she left the bathroom, still strapping on armour panels._

_To her surprise, she realised that her range was a good block farther than before. She had no time to wonder why._

_Everything she had done up to this point had been carried out under controlled circumstances, or as controlled as Mike could arrange them; getting her feet wet, but with an appropriate safety margin. That margin was no longer in operation. It was time to see how she would do in the real world._

_Even more to her surprise, she realised that she was looking forward to it._

* * *

End of Chapter Thirty-Five


	36. Chapter 36

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter 36: Reactions

* * *

_Corporal Joe McKenzie considered himself to be a lucky man. His entire duty was to follow Paige Macabee around, and ensure that she caused problems for no-one, and that no-one caused problems for her. It was an odd relationship; she wasn't quite a prisoner, but nor was she free to go alone just anywhere. He did his best not to be too intrusive, and she seemed to appreciate that. Of course, following a 'civilian contractor' around had the potential to cause extreme boredom for a trained soldier._

_On the upside, Paige was quite pretty, once you got past the banana-yellow hair and the odd little feathers that sprouted from her scalp. In addition, she could have been much more difficult about the fact that he had to be within earshot of her at any given time. However, she was taking to it with a degree of acceptance that he doubted that he could have equalled; she had a sweet nature, and was obviously determined to make the best of the situation. And when she was out on the roof sunbathing, as she was this morning, he didn't exactly mind keeping an eye on her._

* * *

_Paige stretched out on the recliner and rubbed her calf with her other foot. Behind her sunglasses, her eyes wandered over to where Joe sat in the shade of an umbrella. Besides the sunglasses, she wore a one-piece bathing suit and lots of sunscreen; she would burn to a crisp, otherwise. Joe, on the other hand, wore his full PRT uniform, including helmet. He was very conscientious about that._

"_You know, you __**can**__ take some of that gear off," she suggested. "That must be horribly hot to wear out here."_

"_Wish I could, Paige," he replied with a grin. "Rules, regulations, et cetera, et cetera."_

_At least that was an improvement; for the first few hours, he had called her 'ma'am' consistently, until she had convinced him to at least use her name. Then it had been 'Ms Macabee' for a while longer. And now he was being natural enough to grin, as opposed to being too stiff and formal to carry on a normal conversation._

_It was so nice to talk to __**anyone**__ these days, who didn't treat her like the Second Coming of the Simurgh. She had no illusions about his base loyalties; in a pinch, he would follow orders. But so long as she didn't cause him problems, he would be friendly._

_Guard or not, he still treated her like a person. Like a human being._

_It could, she knew, be much, much worse._

* * *

_Joe unscrewed the top of his canteen and took a swig of water; as Paige had noted, it was very hot, and he was sweating inside his uniform, even in the shade. "Want some?" he offered, holding it out to her._

_Rolling up on one elbow to face him, she smiled. "Thanks," she replied, accepting the canteen and taking a mouthful. As she handed it back, she went on musingly, "I'm thinking we might go shopping this afternoon, Joe. I'd like to get some clothes."_

_He took the canteen back, screwed the cap on carefully, and hung it on his belt. "You've already __**got**__ clothes," he pointed out, more for the sake of saying something than to be argumentative._

_She wrinkled her nose. "Those are work clothes. Coveralls. I want something bright, something that catches the eye. Something that makes sure people don't get me mixed up with the Simurgh, ever again."_

"_Huh." He considered that. "You've actually got a good point there."_

"_I know I do." But she sounded pleased anyway. "So is there any problem with that?"_

_He shook his head. "I'll call it in, just to make sure, but I can't see it being an issue."_

"_Thanks." She treated him to a beaming smile. "I really appreciate it."_

* * *

_She lay back on the recliner, barely hearing the vague mumbling as he subvocalised into his helmet microphone. No longer a pop star, she wouldn't have the big dollars coming in any more. However, with the pardon that was even now working its way through the system – so Director Piggot had told her – she would once more have access to her savings. She would be able to buy clothes, decorate her quarters in whatever style she liked. And the PRT would pay her simply to sit around while Kid Win and Armsmaster worked on duplicating the quality of her voice that made people so suggestible. Her biggest danger, she suspected, would be boredom._

_But that wasn't something she needed to worry about right now. Right now, there was quality sunbathing to get done. Lowering the recliner's back to the horizontal, she rolled on to her stomach and pillowed her chin on her crossed arms -_

"_Paige."_

_Joe's voice broke into her comfortable reverie. Looking up, she turned to face him._

"_What's up?" she asked. "Don't they like the idea?"_

"_It's not that," he replied, coming to his feet. "You're going to need to get dressed. We're going to have some crowd control to do."_

_With a sigh, she climbed to her feet. It appeared as though she was going to be doing more than simply sitting around, at least today._

"_What's going on?" she asked, grabbing her towel and tucking it around her waist as a makeshift skirt. "Riot?"_

_He shook his head, already leading the way to the roof access. "Gang war."_

_She blinked. "Wow."_

_Life as a civilian contractor for the PRT was definitely showing signs of being not boring._

=/=/=

_Contessa pulled out her phone and tapped out a text message; it consisted of three words. As she pressed the Send button, she spoke the words, "Doorway to Cauldron."_

_Without fuss or bother, the rectangular doorway unfurled before her, revealing the stark white tiled corridor. She stepped through, putting away her phone as she did so. The Door closed behind her as she walked three paces, opened a door and entered; in the meeting room beyond, Alexandria and Eidolon were in conference with Doctor Mother. Alexandria paused as she entered, then continued, addressing the question to Contessa._

" _\- Piggot reports that Allen has given her a method of bringing Accord into line. Can you give us an idea of how successful she will be in this?"_

_Contessa looked at Alexandria serenely. "I myself would use a slightly different approach, but it will certainly suffice to our needs. So long as we hold faith with Accord and his plans, he will be loyal to our cause."_

_Eidolon rubbed his chin. "Allen has confessed to working with incomplete data before now. Will this impact the overall success of our plans?"_

_Contessa shook her head. "Not significantly."_

"_Emily has assigned him a Thinker 0 classification," observed Alexandria. "Would he be more capable of assisting us in our planning if he actually __**had**__ Thinker powers?"_

"_Are you thinking of giving him a formula?" asked Doctor Mother sharply. "The cost -"_

" _\- is nothing, compared with the end result of saving the world. __**All**__ the worlds," Alexandria pointed out._

_Contessa shook her head. "He would be very unlikely to accept one," she stated flatly._

_All three stared at her._

"_He would turn down … powers?" asked Eidolon disbelievingly. "He __**does**__ know what they do, right?"_

_She nodded. "Yes. And he would refuse them under all but the most stringent of situations."_

"_What are his reasons?" asked Alexandria._

"_That … is harder to fathom," Contessa confessed. "Whatever his origins, he presents something of an enigma to me. My power does not give me any sort of detail about him; at best, all I get is broad strokes about his overall goal."_

"_To save the world." Eidolon's voice was just a little sarcastic._

_Contessa nodded firmly. "Exactly."_

"_This man worries me," stated Doctor Mother. "He obviously knows far more about all of us, about Cauldron, than I am personally comfortable with. He also knows about the powers of the parahumans with whom he is associating. But he hasn't made a single move toward turning his knowledge, or the contacts that he has made, to his personal benefit." She spread her hands. "He's obviously far from stupid. What sort of a man is it that has such power, such opportunity, in his grasp, and does not take it?" A shake of the head. "He's dangerous."_

"_I agree," Eidolon commented unexpectedly. "A man with his resources, with no discernible leverage points, who would have us believe that he is only working toward the common good? Who __**does**__ that any more?"_

"_Someone," Alexandria observed, "who doesn't want wealth or power." She paused. "Or perhaps, someone who doesn't __**need**__ it."_

_They considered that for a few moments. Every person there wielded great power of one sort of another, and their association with Cauldron had made them more than a little wealthy._

_Contessa broke the silence. "Or perhaps he's trying to ensure that things are stable before he moves on to the next phase of his plan."_

_The silence resumed, with a certain thoughtful quality to it. Paradoxically, they were more comfortable with this line of thinking; this concept, that of someone setting up a situation in which he could gain a later advantage, was familiar to them, something they could deal with._

"_You'll be ready to forestall his plans, of course." Eidolon was looking directly at Contessa. "Don't blindside us again, like you did the last time."_

_Contessa smiled. "Of course. I'm right on top of the situation."_

_Alexandria nodded. "Good. On to other matters ..."_

=/=/=

_Taylor left the bathroom and jogged through the school corridors; the bugs she had spread throughout the school picked up several other people moving around, but only a few were running like she was. She changed direction and put on the pace to catch up with them._

_She needn't have worried; they were moving at the pace of their slowest member, and she dashed out of a side corridor about thirty feet in front of them._

_"Weaver!" called Aegis; she waved and slowed, running backward until they caught up with her, then turning and falling into step with them._

_"Wow, seriously, Weaver?" asked Kid Win; his armour was slowing him down slightly, but he was doing his best to keep up with the others. Taylor thought his voice sounded oddly familiar; maybe it was because she'd met him briefly after the Brockton Bay Central Bank robbery. "You did good at the bank, and I heard about what you did against Coil."_

_Before she could answer, Gallant had moved up alongside her. "It's really great to have you in the Wards," he greeted her. "I'd heard you were coming to Arcadia, but I didn't know it was going to be this soon."_

_She grinned behind the mask. "It's good to be here," she replied. And it was; she was one of them. They had accepted her. She was officially a superhero._

_And with that, Mike's tutoring clicked into focus. __**Remember; they don't know the extent of your powers, what you can do with them. Don't be afraid to suggest ideas.**__ He had grinned then, at some inner joke. __**Just try not to freak out Clockblocker too much. He's a delicate flower.**_

_"Aegis," she said crisply. "What's the threat level? How hard do you want me to go?"_

_The boy in the rust-brown costume did not hesitate more than half a second. "There's a lot of gang members on the streets. The vast majority of them are normals, but they're armed, so we treat the threat level as high." He looked around at them. "There are three factions in play; Empire Eighty-Eight and the Merchants coming in from each side, and the ABB in the middle. Note that they're all going head to head; at our best guess, the Merchants are going for a land grab, and the Empire's pushing outward to avoid any impression of weakness."_

_"The __**Merchants**__?" asked Clockblocker. "Doesn't sound like them."_

_"Normally, it wouldn't be," Gallant pointed out. "But the Empire and ABB aren't exactly on the top of their game at the moment."_

_Taylor cleared her throat. "Aegis, I have a swarm building right now. Which direction should I send it?"_

_He glanced at her, startled. "How big - no, never mind. We'll, uh, be going northwest from here, so send it that way. I'll be getting you to do scouting and crowd control on the mooks."_

_"And if we hit hostile capes?" Taylor was surprised at how calm her voice sounded._

_He shot her a grim smile. "Take them down hard, but remember, for the most part they aren't as resilient as Lung."_

_She nodded sharply. "Hard but non-lethal; got it."_

_"We'll be joining up with Protectorate capes and working alongside them," Aegis went on, addressing the whole group. "They've also alerted New Wave and every independent cape they could reach; we're going to need all hands on deck for this one. Gallant, can you -"_

_"Already on it," the grey-armoured teen responded. "Vicky and Amy are on their way now."_

=/=/=

Menja allowed me to lock up my vehicle, although I was justifiably dubious as to how well that would work against a determined vandal. With one hand on my shoulder, applying just enough pressure to remind me that she was there, she escorted me back down the road. As she did so, we encountered a powerfully-built man, moving purposefully toward the ongoing brawl.

His hair was long and greasy, and he bore several tattoos on his arms and shirtless torso; I would have guessed at his identity even without the metal extruding from his body to cover his skin. He sneered at me as he passed us. "Who's the rent-a-cop?" he asked.

"Someone that Kaiser wants to talk to," replied Menja coolly.

Hookwolf looked me up and down and sneered again, then nodded to Menja and moved on, having obviously dismissed me from his worldview. I glanced back once, to see him growing more metal on his body as he closed in on the brawlers.

Menja did not allow me to linger, and I really didn't want to see what happened next; we turned the corner just before he reached them, but the screams carried to us just fine. Hookwolf, I knew, was not a man who pulled his punches. I felt sick to my stomach, but I did my best not to show it.

As we went to meet Kaiser, the thought kept running through my head: _I made this happen. I got those people hurt and killed._ Gang members or no, what happened to them was ultimately on me. And I didn't like that, in any way, shape or form.

Which meant that even now, I had to step up. I was in as dangerous a position as ever I had been in my life; I was being escorted by a parahuman, who could kill me with ease, to meet a man who I had repeatedly insulted on our last meeting. A man whose current position of power depended heavily upon showing absolutely no sign of weakness.

And if I wanted to reduce the casualties, I had to figure out how to tell him what to do, in such a way that didn't get me killed in any one of a dozen gruesome ways.

I really, really wanted to go to the toilet.

=/=/=

_Amy glanced up when Vicky's phone buzzed to indicate an incoming text. It would hardly have been unusual in the normal run of things, except that Arcadia incorporated Faraday shielding in its walls to prevent that exact thing from happening with every single student. Such shielding could only be bypassed by going outside to make a call ... or if one's boyfriend had a Tinker friend who could circumvent it._

_The school knew about this, of course; Dean had insisted on telling them. It was only to be used as a means for Gallant to contact Glory Girl in the case of an emergency. So when Victoria Dallon got a text in the middle of class, it meant that Amy had to pay attention, too. If Glory Girl was needed, then the chances were that Panacea was in demand as well._

_Except that on this occasion, Amy was going to have some unwelcome news for her sister._

=/=/=

_Emily Piggot frowned as her phone went off. She held up a hand to stall the PRT major on the other side of her desk. She would normally have ignored it, but she had it set to accept only the highest priority messages._

_Pulling it out, she read the text on the screen: __**Find Michael Allen.**_

_The number wasn't one she recognised; she frowned again. Somehow it had bypassed her priority system._

_"One second, Major," she told the PRT man, and tapped out Allen's number. If the man - or whatever he was - wanted to get in touch with her, then all he had to do was call; his number __**was**__ on her 'priority' list._

_But he hadn't; this was a third party, telling her to find him._

_Director Piggot was not a stupid woman; it didn't take her long to connect the dots. The chances were that this message had not come from a mundane source. Which meant ... what?_

_**No need to panic just yet. I'll just ask him where he is**__, she decided, tamping down the stirrings of alarm in her mind._

_The phone went straight to voice mail._

"_That's not like him," she decided. Hanging up the phone momentarily, she set up a conference call._

=/=/=

Menja had taken my phone, of course, as well as my pepper spray and extendible baton; I may not have been a credible threat to her, with Hookwolf in easy calling range, and Kaiser presumably somewhere nearby, but she wasn't taking any chances. I watched her turn the phone off; there went any chance I had of calling for help.

"You realise, that might make people wonder, if my phone's off," I commented.

"Let them wonder," she stated. "I take my orders from Kaiser, and no-one else."

"I can't argue with that," I responded agreeably. She shot me a sharp glance, but I met it with a bland gaze.

"And who do _you_ take orders from, security man?" she asked.

"Very few people," I replied. "Right now, no-one at all."

I wasn't sure if she believed me; it _was_ true, given that I was off duty for a month, but the truth of a statement did not necessarily add to its credibility.

"That scar on your neck," she observed at last. "Bakuda?"

I nodded, quelling the impulse to rub at the still-itching spot. "The same."

"And yet you're still walking and talking."

"I have good friends," I told her. "And on that note, where's Kaiser, exactly?"

"In here." She pushed me toward a doorway.

We entered, and climbed stairs. Several storeys up, we emerged on a rooftop; I was breathing heavily, and sweating more than a little.

Menja looked at me disapprovingly. "You do not care for your body," she chided.

I tried to think of a smart comment, but I was panting too hard to think clearly. "Make it to my age," I told her at last, "and see how you go."

=/=/=

_"You've reached Legend, Director Piggot. How can I help you?"_

_**"There's a gang war breaking out in Brockton Bay, and I've lost contact with Security."**_

_Legend paused, hovering in midair over New York. "Not to be unhelpful, Director, but can't your forces on the ground find him as easily as I could?"_

_**"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear the first time," **__she stated acerbically. __**"Gang. War. The ABB, the Merchants and the Empire Eighty-Eight are duking it out on the streets, and the man who knows how to save the world is in the middle of it. I was actually trying to get Alexandria, but the call was transferred to you. My forces are just now getting organised to stop the gangs, but my only fliers are in the Wards. Please. I'm asking for help."**_

"_I'm still not sure what I can do," Legend replied, even as he turned northward. "I can't search every building in the city."_

"_**I've got Armsmaster on the line as well,"**__ Piggot told him. __**"He can give you a bearing on the last location of the phone before it went offline. That should narrow down the search area considerably. And you **_**can**_** cover it a lot faster than my forces could."**_

_He nodded, although she could not see him. She was right, of course. "I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can."_

=/=/=

Kaiser turned his head as we emerged on to the roof. Fenja stood alongside him; she continued to watch the street.

"Good morning, Mr Allen," he greeted me. "I see you were not foolish enough to decline my invitation."

Moving forward at Menja's insistence - not that she was being forceful, but the gentle pressure in the small of my back echoed the itch between my shoulder-blades, so I didn't argue - I joined him at the roof's edge.

"It fell into the category of 'an offer I could not refuse'," I observed, trying to match his casual tone. From where we stood, I could see not only the victorious Empire members moving on down the street, leaving recumbent ABB bodies in its wake, but also my pickup, parked at the side of the road.

I gestured toward the vehicle. "I'm guessing that if I had attempted to drive on, I would have suffered a sudden and inexplicable puncture?"

He smiled coldly. "At the very least, Mr Allen. At the very least."

He turned slightly away from me, to follow something that was out of my line of sight. Curious, I stepped forward to see. Both Fenja and Menja tensed; abruptly, a spiked fence of steel spikes grew up around me. I stopped moving. Given that a dozen needle-sharp spines were suddenly pricking me through my clothing, and more were poking at my stab vest, not moving seemed to be a wise course of action.

"I'm actually curious," I cleared my throat, "I'm actually curious as to why you've had me brought here."

Turning his head back to me, he raised an eyebrow. "Only 'curious', Mr Allen?" His voice was amused. "You appear to be made of sterner stuff than most people that I've had brought before me."

"Well, to be honest," I told him, "I'm kind of glad you had me picked up. There is something I _do_ need to talk to you about."

That got his attention. He turned back to me then; his eyes were intent, his focus total. "After Friday night's conversation, I find this hard to believe. Why the about-turn?"

I wanted to take a deep breath, but I didn't feel like testing out the integrity of my stab vest. "You may recall the audience we had on Friday night. I didn't want to let them know I was too interested in talking to you." I paused. "Note that what I actually said at the time still stands; I don't approve of your organisation or its aims. But I have need of you, and several other members of the Empire. So, we need to talk."

He was walking around me slowly; by now, the cage of steel spikes had grown to encompass my head. All I could do was follow him with my eyes.

"Really." His voice was cold, the tone of someone totally in charge. "You have 'need' of me. How interesting. Perhaps you had forgotten the insults you hurled my way, the last time we talked? Accusing me of being either a moron or a hypocrite? Do you retract that statement?"

I felt the cold steel of a blade sliding into place across my throat; I had absolutely no doubt that it was razor sharp.

"What I think of you personally doesn't matter," I mumbled, trying to move my Adam's apple as little as possible.

The blade increased its pressure; I felt the sting as the skin was broken.

"Oh, but it does." Kaiser's voice was but a whisper, right by my ear. "I have been rarely been spoken to in that fashion by _anyone_, and it's even more rare that I let them live, afterward."

"Killing me," I managed, "would be a very bad idea." I was sweating anew now, and my heartbeat thundered in my ears. "The PRT -"

"- has more to worry about right now than the life of a single second-rate security guard," he interrupted me. "More to the point, _I_ have little to lose, now that every single member of the Empire Eighty-Eight has been unmasked. If the PRT needs an indication of my determination to remain in power as the head of the Empire Eighty-Eight in Brockton Bay, then perhaps your corpse will serve that purpose."

"No need," I told him, moving only my lips. "The PRT isn't going to act on that information anyway."

He stopped, staring at me. "Make sense. Fast."

I would have shrugged, if doing so wasn't risking a flesh wound. "If I say go easy on you, the PRT will give you a pass for most of the shit that's gone down today." _At least, I hope so._

His eyes narrowed. "That would presuppose a level of influence with the PRT that I have not yet seen evidence of," he stated flatly "I'm going to need some proof -"

=/=/=

_"Ready to go, Amy?" asked Glory Girl, fitting the tiara on her head._

_Amy didn't answer; she was looking at the floor, trying to formulate what she needed to say next. It wasn't easy, or anywhere near it._

_Vicky came over, putting her hand on Amy's shoulder. "Panacea? Got your game face on?"_

_Amy looked up into her sister's face. "I ... can't go with you, Vicky," she confessed. "I need to go with the Wards. With Weaver."_

_Glory Girl frowned. "What? Why? What's going on?"_

_Amy took a deep breath. "I'm off healing duties while I'm in therapy," she told Vicky in a rush. "Weaver controls bugs. We're collaborating on designing bugs for her -"_

_"Wait, what the fuck?" blurted Vicky. "Off __**healing**__? But healing is what you __**do**__. It's your __**thing**__. You heal people. You can't just decide not to heal people."_

_"And that attitude is part of why I'm __**in**__ fucking therapy in the first place!" shouted Amy. "People die all the time, Vicky! It happens, no matter how hard I try to heal everyone! There are doctors for a reason! They help more people every day than I ever could!" She took a deep breath to calm herself. "So just for a little while, I'm taking time off. He told me that I didn't __**have**__ to heal __**anyone**__ if I didn't want to. So I'm not. Not until I get my head on straight."_

_Vicky was staring at her. "__**Who**__ told you?"_

_Amy met her gaze squarely. "Mike Allen. Security."_

_"What the fuck?" demanded Glory Girl. "Who gave him the fucking right to tell you what you can and can't do?"_

_"He gave me advice," Amy told her. "And now I'm in therapy, and I'm learning so much about myself.". She looked her sister in the eye. "I'm doing this for you too, you know. He told me about something that could have happened if we were not careful, if I wasn't careful. And now that I know, we're taking steps to make sure it never happens."_

_Vicky shook her head. "You're making no sense at all."_

_"I can't tell you, not everything," Amy explained. "But sometime soon I will. You and Mom and Dad, you'll be attending some of my therapy sessions. And then you'll understand what it's all about."_

_Glory Girl was still staring at her. "But you don't __**need**__ therapy. You're the sanest person I know."_

_Amy shook her head. "It's not about being insane to start with. It's about helping me recognise and face my problems." She pointed at the door. "But I need to catch up with the Wards before they go. Can you give me a lift?"_

_Vicky heaved a sigh. "Sure. But this isn't over. I __**am**__ gonna find out what's going on."_

_Amy smiled as Vicky scooped her into a bridal-style carry. "I wouldn't expect anything less."_

_**Though I'm not looking forward to finding out how you react when you find out how I feel about you,**__ she mused. __**The way Mike described it, it did not turn out well.**_

_She sighed, internally. __**We'll get to that when we get to it.**_

=/=/=

_When the need was upon him, Legend could fly very fast indeed. He made it from New York, north and east to Brockton Bay, in a remarkably short time. At thirty thousand feet, few people would have been able to see anything worth seeing; however, his unique powerset allowed him to distinguish details at ground level that would normally have required a high-powered optical telescope._

_He could not scan at speed, but he could cover quite a large area while scanning from altitude._

_It wasn't all easy going; fires had been set, or accidentally started, here and there, and the plumes of smoke blocked his vision as easily as it blocked normal sight. But he hadn't even needed to check each plume in turn; barely a minute into the search, he had located his quarry._

_And he had not arrived a moment too soon._

=/=/=

"- of what you're saying ..."

Kaiser's voice trailed off, which didn't really surprise me. I was too busy blinking in astonishment as the cage of blades fell apart around me; there had been a flash of red light, and then each blade, each spike, had been separated from the whole and was now lying on the rooftop at my feet.

Kaiser grew a sword from his hand – just _grew_ it, which would have struck me as insanely cool at any other time. Menja readied her spear, looking outward. Fenja raised her shield.

And then Legend arrived on the rooftop.

Again, all I saw was a flash of light, and then he was _there_; hair unruffled, not even a crack in the tarred rooftop under his feet. Light played over his hands and arms; the equivalent, I figured, of a Brute flexing his muscles. Which didn't surprise me; whatever they could do, he could counter, and whatever he wanted to do, they had no chance of beating.

"This is over," he informed us quietly. "Mr Allen; are you all right?"

The first thing that struck me was the sheer _presence_ of the man. He was of average height and build; the skin-tight costume showed that he was fit and muscular. But even though he was also quite handsome, that wasn't all of it, not by a long shot. He had charisma and charm, even though the latter wasn't really showing through, in the grim tone of his voice.

I had met some of the worst capes in Brockton Bay. Today, I was meeting one of the best.

"Oh, I'm fine," I told him, thinking quickly. "Mr Anders and I were discussing the concept of his pulling his men back to _status quo ante bellum_, in return for not being arrested just for being Kaiser. Everything the Empire's done today." I looked at Kaiser, and then back at Legend. "Everything they've done today that doesn't involve harm to civilians or property, we sweep it under the rug. The PRT doesn't go after them just for being a criminal parahuman gang."

Kaiser was staring at me, as was Legend. Menja and Fenja were silent, but wary. They obviously knew, as I did, that the arrival of the Triumvirate leader had utterly shifted the playing field; the man regularly went up against _Endbringers_, for crying out loud. Even with me as a potential hostage, they were so badly outmatched that it was laughable.

Of course, now I had to convince _him_ not to take _them _down.

Legend folded his arms. "So tell me, why exactly should I do any of that, instead of just arresting them?"

It seemed simple enough to me. "As I said, _status quo ante bellum._ The Merchants and the ABB are still going at it hammer and tongs, but if the Empire pulls out of this war, it'll be a lot easier for the PRT and Protectorate to take down the rest." I gestured toward Kaiser and the two girls. "If you arrest them, that still leaves the rest of the Empire on the streets, causing havoc. But if he calls everyone off, that takes half the parahumans off the field, in one fell swoop. Right, Kaiser?"

Reluctantly, Kaiser nodded. "That is correct, yes." He looked at Legend; I could see the cogs turning in his head, trying to see a way to glean an advantage from the situation. "If I call my people off, we simply walk away? No arrests?"

Legend grimaced. "I'm still not convinced. Mr Allen, why are you advocating this?"

I raised my eyebrows. "You've been filled in on what happened Friday night?"

He nodded. "Yes. Does this have to do with that?"

I shrugged. "Sure. I figure we can use Kaiser, the twins, Hookwolf, Rune, Othala and Victor."

Menja and Fenja both glanced sharply at me. Kaiser frowned.

"So what is it, exactly, that you want us for?" he asked.

I grinned. "To save the world."

Kaiser looked to Legend. "Is he serious?"

After a long moment, the hero nodded. "Apparently so." He came to a decision. "Do it. Call your men off. You get to walk away, free and clear, except for anyone who actually targeted civilians. If they can be identified, or if they've already been arrested, then they _will_ be prosecuted."

"I gave specific orders for civilians not to be targeted," Kaiser reminded him curtly. "If any have disobeyed me, then they deserve whatever punishment they receive."

"But you'll stand everyone else down?" pressed Legend.

Kaiser did not answer him directly; instead, he pulled out his cellphone. As he dialled, he turned to Menja. "Find Hookwolf. Pass on the word. We cease hostilities immediately."

The tall Amazonian blonde saluted with her spear, and headed for the stairwell.

Holding the phone to his ear, Kaiser went on. "Kreig? Kaiser. We're out of this war, effective immediately. Stand all troops down, and pull them back to our territory."

Kreig must have asked for confirmation, because Kaiser's tone hardened. "I'm not _asking._ I'm _telling. _Stand. Everyone. Down. At. Once."

There was a long pause, then he nodded once, sharply. "Good. Let me know when it's done." Putting the phone away, he turned to Legend, and raised an eyebrow. _Satisfied?_ he didn't quite ask.

Legend acknowledged with a nod, but pursed his lips. "I'm still not entirely convinced that this is the best thing to do," he observed, then he turned to me. "You're certain of this?"

"We're going to need our biggest hitters," I told him frankly.

"Kaiser isn't a huge hitter, though," he pointed out.

"But he can create shapes with his blades," I responded, then looked at the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight. "You _can_ do that, right?"

Kaiser looked slightly taken aback, but recovered well. "Of course," he retorted. "I have complete control over my power."

I nodded. "Good. We'll have need of that."

Kaiser frowned. "You speak as though you're arranging some sort of Endbringer Truce. We already _have_ those."

I badly wanted to pat him on the head and say something along the lines of _You're so adorable, _but I chose not to, on the grounds that I had pushed my luck quite far enough for one day.

Instead, I tilted my head slightly as I pretended to think about the concept. "That's one way to think about it, yes," I agreed. After all, I _was_ trying to arrange a truce, in order to battle the most powerful end-bringer of all. "Not quite sure when it'll happen, but at some time, sooner or later, we'll be calling on you. And when we do, we're going to be needing you to bring your A-game to the table."

"So, just another Endbringer attack, then," he replied dismissively. "I thought that you claimed to have disposed of those." His tone was heavy with disbelief.

"Oh, if all goes right, the Endbringers won't be a problem," I assured him. "It's not _them_ I'm talking about." I looked him in the eye. "What I'm working on right now, last time it was tried, there were eighty percent casualties, and that was _before_ the endgame. This time round, I'm hoping for a lower number."

"What in God's name are you talking about?" he demanded.

Slowly, I shook my head. "Can't tell you. And if I were you, I wouldn't think too hard about it. Just in case." I turned to head for the stairwell.

"Wait!" objected Kaiser. "What's going on here? Why do you specifically need my ability to shape metal? Who _are_ you?"

I looked back at him. "What's going on here is that you've just acquired the direct and personal attention of the PRT by kidnapping me. Fortunately, I'm the forgiving type." I paused to give him time to let that sink in. "Why we need your specific capabilities, that's currently classified. And as for who I am and where I'm from and how I know what I know, that's so classified that not even the _President_ is cleared to know it. But do us both a favour. Don't pull this again. Seriously. There is no way that it will end well."

I saw him begin to flare up. "If you think you can threaten me -"

I shook my head. "Not a threat. A warning. This time, you get to walk away from this, no backlash. Next time … to quote a line I once heard, mayhem _will_ ensue."

He frowned. "Very well. But this isn't over."

"Nope," I agreed. "It isn't." Turning back to the stairwell, I took the stairs down at a more sedate pace than I had ascended them. Legend accompanied me.

=/=/=

_Kaiser, flanked by Fenja and Menja, watched as the overweight security guard descended the stairs, followed by one of the most powerful parahumans in the world._

_Fenja broke the silence. "He invoked the PRT, and Legend arrived in moments," she observed. "What does that mean?"_

_Kaiser didn't answer for a long moment. "It means that I was wise in not harming him immediately," he replied quietly. "Take note; anyone can make a miscalculation. It's how you handle the aftermath that proves what sort of person you are. It seems that my initial impression of Mr Allen was accurate after all. We are dealing with an unknown quantity here, and if he has the likes of the Triumvirate to call upon, then he is not someone we can safely antagonise."_

"_So what do we do now?" asked Menja._

"_We make sure that our forces fall back in good order, and leave the Merchants and the ABB to the tender mercies of the PRT," Kaiser declared. A smile crossed his face. "There will be plenty of time to pick up the pieces, after."_

=/=/=

"Tell me," Legend commented after we'd gone down a flight, "was it your _intention_ to antagonise him?"

"Maybe," I allowed. "I don't like the man, and I don't really give a shit if he knows it."

"But he could have killed you," he objected. "I would have done my best to protect you, but I could not have guaranteed your safety."

"He didn't want me dead," I responded. "He wanted answers."

"But if you'd pushed him too hard, he might have tried to kill you anyway," Legend pointed out reasonably.

My hands were beginning to shake. "Yeah," I admitted. "I didn't think he would, and I still don't, but … yeah. I was a bit stupid there."

We exited the building and walked down the street, around the corner to where my pickup still waited, locked up by the curb. I stopped and turned to him.

"Look," I told him. "Thanks for being there. I mean it. If you hadn't been there, he might have gone a bit too far on me." I offered my hand.

He nodded and shook it. "My pleasure," he replied. "If you can really save the world - "

"Not me," I corrected him. "You guys. I've just got the bare bones. It's up to you to make it into a real plan, and make it work."

He smiled, acknowledging the point. He had one of those infectious smiles; I found myself liking him on instinct, over and above the gratitude for saving my life. "Yes, but you're the one who's pointing us in the right direction."

I grinned. "It's kind of my job. I'm the guy who knows stuff, remember?"

"So I understand," he replied dryly. "Just by the way, did you know this war was going to happen?"

I shook my head. "One was going to happen, but in the previous instance, it started for a different reason, with different people instigating it. Bakuda kicked it off the last time, with the intention of freeing Lung. So when she was captured, I thought that was done with."

"Hm," he mused. "That's interesting."

"One way to put it," I agreed, as dryly as he had a moment ago. "Anyway, I'm going to get home before anyone _else_ decides to kidnap me."

"Not your home," he decided. "That's not secure. Kaiser proved that, on Friday night. The PRT building will be safer, at least until the current crisis is dealt with."

I nodded, acknowledging the point. "You'll let them know that I'm on the way?"

"I'll do better than that," he told me. "I'll escort you in."

I shrugged as I unlocked the door and got in. "Not going to argue."

* * *

End of Chapter Thirty-Six


	37. Chapter 37

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter 37: Adding to the Mix

* * *

_Taylor was just climbing into the PRT van when Glory Girl landed near the vehicle in a rush of wind. The blonde set Panacea down on her feet, then headed over to the van._

_"Weaver, yeah?" she asked. "I remember you from the bank."_

_"Uh, yes?" Taylor replied, a little distractedly. She had gathered large swarms before, but never under this sort of pressure, and she worried that she might not be able to keep track of everything, or that she might lose control of a chunk of her swarm at the wrong moment. For all that Mike had assured her that she was capable of this, she had yet to prove it to herself, and so she was concentrating harder than normal on the task._

_"Hey!" snapped Glory Girl. "Panacea's said she wants to go with you. I want to be sure you're going to protect my sister, not space out on her."_

_Behind her goggles, Taylor blinked; the swarm seemed to be holding together well, so she relaxed some of the concentration, just a bit. "Uh, sorry, Glory Girl. Hey, Amy. You're coming out too, huh?"_

_Stepping up alongside Glory Girl, Panacea nodded. "Yeah, but like Mike said, no healing. So, bugs. I can do bugs. Can I come along?"_

_"Hell, yes," agreed Taylor at once. She leaned back into the van. "Okay if Panacea rides along?"_

_"Sure," responded Aegis, then he glanced at the PRT driver for confirmation. "That's okay, isn't it?"_

_"If you have enough seats, I have no problem," the driver told him._

_"If there's not enough, then Weaver can sit in someone's lap," Clockblocker quipped. "I vote mine."_

_"That's not funny," Aegis snapped. "Jokes like that are not appropriate. First and last warning."_

_Taylor registered the byplay, but chose to ignore it. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of her," she assured Glory Girl. "Thanks for dropping her off." She stepped aside to let Amy climb into the van, then went to follow her. Vicky stopped her._

_Taylor looked down at the hand on her shoulder, then back at Glory Girl. "What?"_

_Vicky leaned close, her voice lowered so that those in the van could not hear her. "I don't know what's going on between you and my sister, but I **am** going to find out, and if she gets hurt because of you, or that security guard friend of yours … "_

_Taylor shook her head. "Don't even go there. Mike's done nothing but good for us. And Amy's my **friend**. I won't let her get hurt."_

_Glory Girl's eyes bored into her. "You'd better not."_

_"_Excuse me?" Aegis suggested from his seat. "Don't want to break up the girl talk, but we've got this gang war thing to deal with?"__

_"_We'll deal with this later," Taylor promised Glory Girl. "But I **will** keep her safe."__

_"_You'd better," Vicky told her. "Or I **will** find you." Her hand left Taylor's shoulder, and seconds later, she was gone, vaulting skyward in a streak of white and gold.__

_Taylor climbed into the van, found one of the unoccupied seats, and strapped herself in. As the van moved off, Amy turned to her from the next seat._

_"_What was that about?"__

_Taylor shook her head slightly. "Just Glory Girl being Glory Girl, I suspect." She was glad that Vicky had at least kept her aura in check; that, on top of everything else, might have been just a little hard to take._

_"_Hm." Amy's tone was non-committal, but she made no further comment.__

=/=

It was really weird, driving through Brockton Bay. Parts of the city were a virtual war zone, while in others it was business as usual. Legend steered me around the worst bits; for the most part, the gang members ignored me if I drove fast enough, but this was still going to take me altogether too long to get to the PRT building.

_While Legend is escorting me, he's not helping quiet this mess down. And I'm fairly sure that Endbringers are attracted to chaos and conflict. And that this gang war's a bit bigger than the one that happened in canon._

Without slowing, I put my arm out the window and did an awkward downward come-here gesture. Legend's eyesight must have really been that good; before I finished making the gesture for the second time, he was right there, beside the car.

"What is it?" he called over the wind rush; at that moment, I was doing slightly more than the posted speed limit. For a given definition of 'slightly'.

"I can make it from here," I yelled back, changing down to reduce speed for a corner. "You go kick some gangland arse!"

He kept pace with me as I took the corner, changed up and applied acceleration once more. "If you're sure?"

"Yeah. Get going. I'm good."

He gave me one last nod, then pulled a ninety-degree vertical turn and just disappeared.

I was on my own.

Not that I intended to hang around and admire the view.

=/=

_The news helicopter swooped low over the streets, although it didn't go **too** low. Dealing with parahumans meant that a certain amount of caution was called for; few of Brockton Bay's criminal capes were fliers, but that was in no way a guarantee of safety. There was more than one way to bring down a low-flying aircraft, and not all of them required the ability to reach that altitude._

_Hanging out the side on his safety harness, the cameraman panned over the scenes below. Within the helicopter, strapped in but watching the screen, the reporter spoke for those in the studio._

_"_While this isn't as fraught as a full-on cape battle, it's still very unsettling to see gangs walking the streets of Brockton Bay in broad daylight, as if they own the place. And yes, we have seen capes of different factions mixing it up. These have mainly been Merchant versus Empire Eighty-Eight, given that two of the three ABB capes are currently in PRT custody."__

=/=

_"Hey, Kayden, I really think you need to see this."_

_Theo's voice came to Kayden as she exited the tiny bathroom, still towelling her hair down. He was sitting on his bed, holding Aster, but his eyes were on the TV screen._

_"_What is it?" she asked. Then her eyes registered the view of her home city from the air, smoke rising here and there, the reporter's voice over it all. But what really got her attention was the banner scrolling across the bottom of the screen; GANG WAR IN BROCKTON BAY.__

_"_Oh my god," she gasped. "When did this happen?"__

_"_It only started coming on the news a little while ago," Theo explained. Aster burbled something, and he automatically rocked her till she quieted. "I think channel two has a speech that Kaiser made. I caught the end of it just after you went into the shower."__

_Leaving the towel wrapped around her head, Kayden picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV. As it happened, she clicked it over in the middle of the speech. Kaiser stood, fully armoured, before a throne-like chair._

_" _**-pire Eighty-Eight is not yet done. We still have the strength of our resolve, our superior humanity. We will oppose one of the foes to law and order in this city; the ABB have been weakened, and we will strike to end them, once and for all."**__

_Raising his arm to point at the camera, Kaiser took a step forward. As he spoke, he clenched his fist, and a sword blade grew from it, gradually lengthening._

_"_**All I need from you is to step aside. Do not stand in our way, and if you are not ABB, then you have nothing to fear."** He paused; his sword pointed directly at the camera. **"If you **_**are**_** ABB, then I would advise you to leave town immediately. If you're too stupid to do that, then … well, feel free to wait. We'll get to you."**__

__The sword point dropped, then rose in salute. **"Everyone who is not ABB or affiliated with them; stay out of our way and you will not be harmed. You have my word on this."**__

_Kayden dropped the remote on the bed. "Oh god," she muttered. "He's escalating. That's the worst thing he could possibly do. They'll Birdcage him for this."_

_Theo looked up at her, worried. "What are we going to do?"_

_She glanced down at him, thinking. "Aster is safe here, with you, isn't she?"_

_He nodded. "Sure." A frown. "Why?"_

_She indicated the TV. "Because I need to go and help sort that mess out before too many of those idiots get hurt."_

_He blinked. " … what?"_

_Sitting down on the bed beside him, she looked him in the eyes, her expression serious. One of her hands rested on his shoulder; the other caressed Aster's forehead. "Theo," she told him seriously, "I'm trusting you to take care of Aster for me. You and she should be safe here in Boston. You're well out of the way of that fighting. But I need to go back to Brockton Bay, and help out. If I'm to raise Aster in peace, I need to prove to the PRT that I can be a hero, so they'll let us alone."_

_"_You – you're going to **leave** me here, with Aster?" he gulped. "What if something happens? What if something goes wrong?"__

_Leaning in, she kissed him gently on the forehead; the first time she had ever offered such a gesture. "I **trust** you," she reminded him firmly. "Now I'm going to need you to trust in yourself."_

_Standing, she went to the door. "Lock up behind me," she advised him. "Let no-one in."_

_"_Got it," he agreed.__

_The door clicked shut behind her; Theo tried to fight off a sudden, terrible sense of loneliness, and only partially succeeded._

_"_Well, Aster," he told the baby out loud. "Looks like it's just you and me. The dynamic duo. Here to make funny noises and change dirty diapers."__

_Aster gurgled in agreement._

_It didn't make Theo feel any better._

=/=

_Paige wasn't quite sure how she felt about what was going on. This wasn't like the raid on Coil's base, where she had been kept back, away from the action. She was going to be going **out** there, into the streets. There was a little fear roiling around in her gut, but she had been a part of productions before, and the preparations of the PRT soldiers had that backstage feel about it, everyone making sure everything was in place before the curtain went up. It was just familiar enough to be almost comfortable, and just unfamiliar enough to put her teeth on edge. The guns did not help._

_Joe stuck close to her, as was his job, but she somehow got the impression that he was treating it as more than just a job, that he was proud of being there, pleased that he was the one who was showing her what to do, how to put on the protective gear._

_She paused in the middle of pulling a strap tight, binding some sort of bulky vest over her upper body. "Joe, is this really necessary? Are people going to be shooting at me?"_

_He paused while he thought about the answer. "I don't know, Paige. I don't know how bad it will get out there. But I do know this much. I'd much rather you wear that and not need it, than not wear it, and need it." She did not miss the fact that he was exchanging his light webbing for the heavier vest as well._

_She found her hands were shaking. "Joe, I'm scared."_

_He nodded. "Yeah. Me too." Pulling his pistol from its holster, he pulled back the slide, apparently checking something, then let it snap forward. The gun went back into the holster._

_She frowned. "You're not scared. You look happy."_

_"_It affects us all in different ways," he reminded her. "Think of this as the biggest stage show you've ever done."__

_She blinked, recalling the parallel she had drawn for herself just a few moments ago. "Can – can I have some makeup?"_

_This time, he stopped, and stared at her. "You what again?"_

_"_Makeup," she repeated. "I need it. Whenever I was about to go out on stage, I'd get the shakes, and I always thought my makeup was smeared or something. So I'd fix the makeup, and that got me through it."__

_"_Huh." He raised a hand. "Gunny!"__

_A bulky PRT trooper shouldered his way over to them. No, Paige realised. **Her** way. The PRT trooper was taller than Paige, and outmassed her twice over, even without the protective gear, but was clearly a woman. A woman who could snap Paige over her knee like a twig, but a woman all the same. The tag on her uniform read "LASALLE."_

_"_Yeah, McKenzie?" asked LaSalle. Her eyes clicked on to Paige. "You the squishy?"__

_"_Uh -" began Paige, having no idea how to handle this.__

_"_Be nice," Joe intervened. "Gunny, meet Paige Macabee. Paige, meet Gunny LaSalle."__

_"_Uh … hi?" ventured Paige. LaSalle gave her a hard stare, not giving anything up at all. Paige glanced at Joe, who came to her rescue.__

_"_Gunny, Paige needs to borrow some of your makeup stash."__

_The steady gaze of the PRT gunny – gunnery sergeant, if Paige's memory served her correctly – sharpened to almost a physical thing. "Why?"_

_Paige gulped. "Um … it'll help?" She showed LaSalle her hands, which were shaking badly now._

_LaSalle glared at Joe, who gazed blandly back. "This better not be a joke."_

_"_No joke, Gunny," Joe assured her. "You deal with shit your way, Paige deals with it her way."__

_"_Hm. Okay." LaSalle turned away, to forge a passage through the crowd of PRT troopers.__

_"_Wow," Paige muttered. "She really doesn't like me."__

_Joe shook his head. "Nah, that's her usual way. She's not so bad when you get to know her. Her friends call her Sally."_

_"_Uh, if her friends call her Sally, what do her enemies call her?"__

_Joe chuckled. "Dunno. Never met one."_

_Paige wasn't quite sure if he was joking or not._

* * *

_LaSalle returned in short order, and handed Paige a compact and a tube of lipstick. "All I can spare," she grunted._

_"_It'll do," Paige told her. "Thank you." She unscrewed the lipstick, and flipped open the compact to check. It was cheap stuff, and the colours weren't really **her**, but it was what she had to work with.__

_The lipstick went on first, her hands no longer shaking, the familiar movements calming her. Quick strokes, confident and smooth. The compact held eyeshadow and blush side by side; she brushed the eyeshadow on, working from inner corners to outer._

__Finally, she applied the blush to her cheekbones. Using the tiny mirror, she checked herself, dabbed away a little errant lipstick, and touched up her eyeshadow. Her heart rate was no longer making her breathless, she noted absently. **Thank you, power of suggestion.**__

_Snapping the compact closed, she managed a smile as she handed it and the lipstick back to the glowering sergeant. "Thanks, Gunny."_

_"_Welcome," LaSalle growled. She paused, then clapped Paige on the shoulder, nearly causing her knees to buckle. "Good luck, Macabee. Don't get killed."__

_"_I – thanks." She watched LaSalle push her way through the crowd, and turned to Joe. He was grinning. "What?"__

_"_You'll see her again," he told her.__

_She blinked, confused. "What?"_

_He tilted his head toward where LaSalle had gone. "Don't be surprised if she comes to see you off duty, for makeup tips. You made that look easy. LaSalle kind of … struggles."_

_"_I, uh, okay," she managed. "Right. What do I do next?"__

_"_Next, you put this on," he advised her, holding a helmet, with a half-visor, similar to the one he wore when escorting her around the base. On the side, someone had applied a decal; Tweety Bird, from the Warner Brothers cartoon.__

_It took her a second to make the connection. "Tweety Bird's a canary."_

_He nodded. "Sure thing. Helps us pick you out in the chaos."_

_She felt a little sad. "I thought I was getting away from that. I was getting used to being Paige."_

_Joe nodded seriously. "I know how you feel. But you come out with us, you help save people's lives. Like you did in Coil's base."_

_"_Yeah, I know," Paige told him. "You're the ones who have to go out and deal with this shi – with this stuff, without powers or anything. If I can help, I will." She paused. "But one more thing. If I've got a call-sign or whatever you call it, I'm Tweety Bird, not Canary." She tapped the decal. "Get it right, okay?"__

_Joe frowned. "You sure? Tweety's kinda wimpy."_

_She flashed him a gamine grin. "Kicks Sylvester's ass every time, doesn't he?"_

_He had to laugh. "That's the spirit. Tweety Bird it is. You're our secret weapon."_

_"_Well then." Paige took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Carefully, she fitted the helmet over her head. "Time to go be a secret weapon, then."__

=/=

_Jared Stevens was nineteen years old; his father owned the Four Aces Motel, and had put him in as night manager to teach him the ropes, and to get him used to the responsibility of a regular job. Also, Jared privately figured, to show him what true, mind-numbing boredom really meant. After all, there were only so many times you could lose at computer solitaire without wanting to go out and play in traffic._

_He hadn't paid much attention to the lady with the kids when they arrived on Thursday evening. She wore sunglasses, even though it wasn't that bright out, which made Jared think 'abused wife'. But so long as the hubby didn't show up to kick her door in, it wasn't any of his beeswax. He'd rented room seventeen to her, warned her about parties and pets, and left her to it._

_Even when the big news hit Friday morning, just as Jared was getting ready for bed, nothing really registered with him. So what if some big cape gang in Brockton Bay got unmasked en masse? It was kind of cool, going through the files – by the time he got back on shift Friday evening, it was possible to find them via web search – and reading the dossiers of the capes who'd been outed, but it wasn't as though it really **mattered.** This being Boston and all._

_But by the early hours of Monday morning, Jared was really starting to wonder about something. The lady in room seventeen kept to herself, but she and her kids looked **awfully** like the pictures of Kaiser's wife, his daughter and his son. He watched the kid go out to buy groceries, and compared what he saw with the picture of Theo Anders. And he was certain he was right._

_The trouble was, Jared didn't know what to **do** with the knowledge. If he was right, and she was Purity, she could probably pulverise him, and the entire damn motel, with not all that much effort. Blackmail, he decided, was right out._

_For half an hour or so, he considered trying to get in touch with Accord, or someone similar. Try to get some sort of kickback for letting them know about the new cape in town. But then he dissuaded himself from that line of thought. **They'd use the little baby as leverage. I can't let them do that.** Plus, he was just as likely to end up with a bullet in the head as with money in his pocket._

_He still hadn't come to a decision when the first news about the gang war splashed across the TV screen. He watched it avidly, the occasional shots of groups of gang members or even capes clashing on live television._

_When his dad arrived to take over for the day shift, he pointed out what was going on._

_"Yeah," grunted the old man. "Heard about it on the radio. Get on home, get some sleep."_

_Briefly, Jared considered telling his father about his suspicions regarding Mrs Russell in room seventeen. But he didn't; he had no idea how the old man would react, but the knowledge, the **secret**, would be out of his hands, out of his control._

_Grabbing his bag, he headed out into the parking lot, going toward the beat-up little car that he had bought with his first month's pay. As he unlocked the door, he saw the lady from seventeen exit her room, heading out toward the street at a brisk walk. She wasn't carrying the baby, and the kid wasn't with her. So they were both still back in the room. For the first time, he saw her clearly, without her sunglasses, with her hair down instead of tied back out of the way, and he knew for a solid fact that Kayden Anders, aka Purity, had been residing in the Four Aces Motel for the last four nights._

_But where was she going? She didn't even have her handbag with her, and she was certainly going **somewhere** in a hurry._

_Climbing into the car, he coaxed it to life and pulled out of the parking lot. She had turned the corner, and he had to wait for traffic, and he thought he'd lost her -_

_\- no, there she was, striding down the sidewalk like she had some place to be, and not long to get there._

_He did his best to not lose her again, driving ahead, then pulling into a parking spot. The movies made it look easy. He craned his neck around to see where she was, then swore as she ducked out of sight into an alley between the used-car lot and the Prudential Insurance building on the corner._

_He was just opening the car door to get out and have a better look when a streak of light shot upward from the far side of the Prudential building. Moving faster than the human eye could follow, it turned north and **accelerated.** Jared fancied that he heard a faint sonic boom._

_He got back into his car, and sat there for a few minutes._

_"_Fuck," he muttered.__

_Then he got out his phone and dialled._

=/=

_"You're kidding, right?" Brian asked rhetorically. "You have to know how mind-numbingly stupid this is."_

_Lisa shrugged. "Yeah," she acknowledged. "It's all of that. Gang war, three different factions clashing in the streets. Us stuck in the middle of it. But it's a gesture, you know?"_

_"_A gesture for what?" asked Alec; he didn't look any happier than Brian. "'Come get us, we're giving you a free shot'?"__

_Lisa shook her head. "No. It's all about showing the PRT, the Protectorate, that we're sincere about wanting to change sides. We sit on our hands, do nothing, that means nothing at all. But if we come out, ally ourselves with them, it makes us look a little bit better. Makes it easier for Director Piggot to accept us as allies instead of enemies."_

_Brian looked over to where Rachel was brushing down Brutus. "Back me up here, Rach," he pleaded. "Tell her it's a bad idea."_

_Rachel didn't look up. "Sure, it's a bad idea," she agreed._

_Brian turned back to Lisa. "See?" he exclaimed. "Even Rachel thinks -"_

_" _\- but doing nothing's worse," Rachel went on.__

_Everyone turned to look at her. She kept brushing Brutus._

_" … _what?" asked Alec. "Seriously?"__

_Rachel said nothing._

_"_Can you … explain that?" ventured Brian.__

_"_Can't explain," Rachel told him. "Not in words."__

_Lisa smiled slightly. "It's a pack dominance thing," she suggested. "ABB, Empire, Merchants, all fighting each other. PRT, Protectorate, cops, fighting to protect the public, to stop the gangs from getting too powerful. Anyone who sits on the sidelines doesn't get hurt, but whoever wins probably won't trust them, after."_

_"_Surely we're past all that pack and dominance bullshit," muttered Alec.__

_Rachel raised her head from her task, and looked him right in the eye. "It's **always** about packs and dominance," she told him flatly._

_Lisa nodded. "The PRT's the biggest pack on the block, right now. We go out there, we ally with them, we make it a lot easier to get in with them after this is all over."_

_"_God dammit," muttered Brian. He reached out and picked up his jacket. "I just know we're going to regret this."__

_"_Probably," agreed Lisa. "But we'd probably end up regretting it more if we didn't."__

_Alec made a face. "So we're going to try to help the heroes."_

_Lisa nodded. "Basically."_

_"_Fuck."__

=/=

_"You've reached the PRT emergency hotline. What is your emergency, please?"_

__"_**Uh, hi, yeah, um. Listen, is there a reward out for turning in wanted parahumans?"**___

_The operator sighed. "Sir, are you in immediate danger, or is someone near you in immediate danger, from a criminal parahuman?"_

__"_**Uh, no, not exactly, but I, um, I know where Purity's been living the last few days. Where she's keeping her kid. Kids."**___

_The operator paused for a moment. "You're sure of this."_

__"_**Absolutely. Guaranteed. Is there a reward?"**___

__"_That's not for me to say. However, I can connect you through to someone who can help you. Please hold."___

=/=

_Amy touched Weaver's gloved hand. "Hey." The glove had a smooth texture, unlike anything she'd felt before, except for seriously expensive fabric. Which it was, in a way. Pure spider silk had to be among the rarest cloth in the world. And Taylor had made herself an entire _**_costume_**_ of it._

_The face of Weaver's mask turned toward her; Amy still thought it was slightly creepy with the yellow goggle lenses, and the mandibles framing the jaw, but she saw the mouth moving under the full-face mask, and heard her reply._

_"_Hey, yourself."__

_Amy smiled slightly. Creepy or not, under that mask was the girl who was rapidly becoming her best friend. She and her father had opened their home to Amy, had given her acceptance without judgement or reservation. She could let her guard down around Taylor, be **herself**. No expectations, no hidden agendas. Just plain old Amy Dallon. Or Amelia Claire Lavere. Whoever she wanted to be._

__Vicky and Carol had been surprised, almost offended, that she needed, **wanted**, therapy. Taylor and Mr Hebert – Danny – had accepted it, supported her, had taken her there, had picked her up after. They'd gone to see a **movie**. Danny had told really horrible, cheesy jokes – Taylor called them 'Dad' jokes – until Amy was weak with laughter. They'd played board games. They'd had **fun.**__

__**If this is what family life is like, I want more of it.**__

_And on another level altogether, Taylor's bugs offered her an out, an expression for her creative side, without the sense of being obligated to do ever more, as her healing made her feel. It was a fun little hobby, something she could dabble with, without having to worry about hurting anyone._

_She was beginning to see the logic behind Mike's curtailing of her healing activities. Once she no longer had to stress about who she had to heal next, about who would die if she **didn't** heal them, she could focus in other directions. Stretch her arms out, metaphorically speaking, and see how far her reach now extended. Learn who she really was, inside. Who she could be._

_"_I was just thinking," she murmured. "If you wanted me to make some of those new bugs of yours, I might need bugs to work with, yeah?"__

_She could dimly see Taylor's eyes behind the goggles. They blinked, now, and Weaver nodded. "Yeah," she conceded. "It might be a good idea." Leaning forward, she tapped Aegis on the shoulder. "Can we slow down for a bit? I need to get some bugs in here."_

_Aegis gave the order to the driver, then turned back to her. "Why do you need bugs in here? Shouldn't they all be out there?"_

_Weaver shook her head. "Nope. I need specialised bugs as well as the normal variety, and Panacea needs something to work with." As she spoke, she slid the window open. The van was slowing, and in the next moment, a horde of insects poured in through the opening. Everyone but Amy and Weaver recoiled, some more violently than others._

_Weaver slid the window shut; the bugs formed into a tight column beside her, buzzing loudly. "Enough for your needs, Amy?"_

_Amy grinned. "Oh, definitely. What do you need first?"_

_"_Relay bugs, I guess. And ketamine bugs. Any spy-bugs you can put together will be good, too." She turned to Aegis, who was staring at the mass of bugs in horrified fascination. "What?"__

_"_I didn't know you were going to bring **that** many in here," he blurted.__

_Weaver shrugged. "Any we don't use just get thrown back," she observed. "Question; are we going more for PR or just stopping the bad guys first and foremost?"_

_He frowned, apparently sensing a trap in her words. "Uh, mainly stopping the bad guys. Why?"_

_Amy could tell from the tone of voice that Taylor was grinning under the mask. "Just checking."_

_She lifted her hand away from the first relay bug, and went to work on the second, and the third. Glancing at Weaver – she didn't actually need to look and see what she was doing – Amy raised an eyebrow. "You're thinking Ali bugs?"_

_"_Just a few," Weaver confirmed. "But the others take precedence."__

_Amy nodded firmly. "Got it."_

_Engrossed in her work, she was a little startled, but not at all surprised, when Weaver put an arm around her shoulders to give her a quick hug. "I really appreciate this."_

_Amy was still searching for a reply that didn't sound sappy or silly when Clockblocker spoke up._

_"_Uh, Weaver, you want to do something about those bugs? They're starting to wander around a bit." He held up his arm; several bugs perched there.__

_"_Oh, sorry, Clockblocker," Weaver told him sweetly. "But you **did** volunteer your lap earlier. I thought it was still on offer." As she spoke, the rest of the bug cloud settled on and around him, covering him from head to toe in dark, chitinous bodies. "Or was I mistaken?"__

_"_Ge-ge-get them off!" blurted the white-clad teen, brushing madly at himself.__

_"_Weaver … " Aegis' tone was stern.__

_"_Just making a point," Weaver replied cheerfully; as she spoke, the bugs were already lifting off of Clockblocker.__

_Amy stifled a giggle as the bugs settled on the one unoccupied seat, forming a rough approximation of a human shape. Taylor still had a bit of practice to go with making what Mike called 'swarm-clones', but she was definitely getting there._

_She wished she could have seen Clockblocker's face inside his helmet. He was a nice boy, but sometimes his sense of humour made him more than a little irritating. Taylor had neatly turned his joke around on him, without hurting anyone._

_Having Taylor Hebert for a friend, Amy decided, was going to be **fun**._

=/=

_Trainwreck paused, catching his breath. Gouges and torn metal marred his body, but he was still moving, still functional. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but one minute ago, he had been getting his ass royally handed to him by Stormtiger, and now he wasn't. Maybe it was because of one of the glancing blows he had landed on the Empire cape, but he really didn't think so._

_His right arm refused to move properly; grinding and popping noises sounded from within the joints when he tried. The white-blond neo-Nazi had been hammering on him with those damned air-claws, and it had been either his arm or his head, and he'd chosen to take it on his arm._

_But now the Empire Eighty-Eight – Stormtiger and the goons with him – were falling back. The Merchants with Trainwreck jeered and waved their weapons, those that were still upright and able to do so, but no-one showed much inclination to follow up. The Empire Eighty-Eight bred a certain type of bloody-mindedness into its minions, and it would be just like them to set an ambush for unwary pursuers. Besides, the Merchants had always preferred easier pickings. It was the way they were._

_Clumping over to a parked car, Trainwreck ripped open the hood with his undamaged arm. Reaching inside, he closed metal fingers over a chunk of the engine. Metal screeched as he wrenched it out. He held it to the damaged limb, and the mechanisms there started incorporating it into his body, repairing the joint, making him whole again._

_He grinned. There were downsides to having metal arms and legs, but the upsides were pretty awesome too._

_"_Okay, guys," he told the waiting Merchants, even as his arm repaired itself. "Cueballs don't wanna fight any more. So this is our turf now. All yours."__

_Whooping with glee, the Merchants scattered; some looted the bodies of their fallen comrades, while others clustered around as yet undamaged cars. Glass shattered as windows were broken. They'd been walking up till now, but now that they had scored some transport …_

_Trainwreck knew for a fact that they were more or less out of control now, but he also knew that Skidmark wouldn't care, so long as he got to take and hold more territory. Some of these guys would recall their allegiance and come back eventually, while others would just tear around in their stolen vehicles, causing havoc wherever they went. In doing so, they would draw attention away from the main body of the Merchants._

_Which, Trainwreck figured, was all part of the plan._

=/=

_The four PRT vehicles pulled into the parking lot of a Seven-Eleven. Two trucks held PRT troopers, as well as Corporal McKenzie and his petite charge. One was the van with the Wards, Weaver and Panacea. And the last held the local Protectorate, save for Armsmaster and Velocity. The former was riding escort on his custom motorcycle; the latter was nowhere to be seen. Overhead, masses of insects darkened the skies. More than one person looked up, nervous._

_The four larger vehicles formed a square, blocking off part of the parking lot. Two of the trucks unfolded side-canopies. Under this shelter, within the square, a folding table was set up. On to this table was taped a map._

_The Wards made way for Weaver, who stepped up to the map. Immediately, bugs began to cluster on the map, starting at a single point and moving out from there. When an area about half a mile across had been filled in, she pointed at the clusters._

_"Red bugs are ABB. Green ones are Merchant. Black ones are ... huh, that's interesting."_

_"What's interesting?" asked Armsmaster, studying the map intently._

_"Empire Eighty-Eight is moving back toward their territory, not starting any new fights," Weaver enlightened them. "They're actively avoiding the others. Even the capes are staying clear of conflict."_

_"Ah, yes," one of the PRT officers stated, holding out a tablet. "The word's just going out now; Legend's in town, and he's gotten Kaiser to stand down his men in return for limited amnesty."_

_"Let me see that." Armsmaster took the tablet and scanned the text on it. "Huh."_

_Weaver looked up. "What, Mike was there too?"_

_Armsmaster's head snapped around. "I didn't say that."_

_"_Uh, no, I read it over your shoulder," confessed Weaver. "Sorry." She held out her hand, and a large bug alighted on it. "Spy bug. Gives me hearing and sight almost as good as a human's. Amy made them for me. I just put one on everyone here. I hope no-one has a problem with that?"__

_Startled, Clockblocker glanced looked to his left and right. There were no bugs on his shoulders. "Where did you put it?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch slightly._

_"_Relax," she told him soothingly. "It's on top of your helmet. It's not going to bite you, and I promise it won't make a mess on your head, either."__

_Armsmaster's lips compressed. "It's customary to ask permission **before** putting listening devices on people."_

_"_Bugging them, you mean?" Taylor replied, then regretted it almost immediately. "Sorry, sorry. Okay, I apologise. I just thought this would be the best way of keeping in touch with where everyone was, and what was happening around them."__

_Armsmaster nodded reluctantly. "Well, in future -"_

_He was interrupted by the arrival of Velocity, in a rush of wind. "Okay, finally found you," the Protectorate cape told them, apparently in some relief. "Oh good, you've got a map. Let me just put down where I've seen … "_

_He peered at the map, then blinked behind his visor. "Is it just me, or are those bugs right where the gang members are?"_

_"_It's not just you," Assault commented, watching the bugs move around on the map with considerable interest. "Though I'm fascinated by the way your range seems to keep on expanding, Weaver."__

_"_Thank Amy for that," Weaver told him cheerfully. "She's made me several dozen relay bugs, and they're currently hitching rides on any vehicles travelling outbound. They expand my range." She gestured to the bug-infested part of the map, which was now a couple of miles across, and steadily (if slowly) growing.__

_"_And this is real-time?" asked Velocity.__

_"_As real as I can make it," affirmed Taylor. "Once we get to work, I'll get Amy to make some bugs to represent PRT forces, as well as Protectorate and independent capes. That way we'll know where everyone is at once."__

_"_Well, no sense in delaying," Armsmaster decided. "Captain, do you have enough information to go on at the moment?"__

_The PRT captain nodded, looking at the map. "If you can send us a video feed of that … "_

_"_Can do, sir," a PRT tech assured him. "We'll just rig an overhead webcam."__

_Moments later, two of the three trucks had been loaded up and were headed out again, as was the van. Aegis shook hands with Weaver as the vehicles rumbled away. "You'll be keeping an eye on us?" he asked._

_"_Every step of the way," she reassured him.__

_Taking to the air, he flew away; Weaver shaded her eyes to watch him go, then she turned back to where Amy was leaning on the map table, watching the bugs move around._

_Joining the normal bugs were others; some were blue in colour, while others each bore a distinct symbol on its back. They slowly crawled along the road, in the general direction of the nearest large grouping of gang members._

_"_I hope they'll be all right," Amy murmured.__

_Taylor put her arm around Amy's shoulders and squeezed. "Between you and me, I think we can keep 'em safe. What do you think?"_

_Amy smiled and offered a fist-bump; Taylor returned it._

_"_I think the bad guys don't stand a chance," Amy told her.__

_"_Damn straight."__

=/=

_Cricket danced and spun around the **irritating** man in the blue costume, with the foul mouth. Her kama lay on the ground nearby, jiggling and inching over the ground. Violet-blue fields covered them, making them impossible to hold; one had squirted from her hand, and she had released the other just in time, before it would have removed fingers._

_He had several minions nearby, attempting to shoot her; she was able to dodge the shots, but the ground around the men was packed tight with the same fields, to the point that she could not reach them. So she was doing her best to get to the man himself; if she knocked him out, his power effects might end. If she killed him, they would almost certainly do so. But she had to **get** to him, first._

_Heavy footfalls sounded – far heavier than even the monstrous Trainwreck – and she risked a glance, while rolling to avoid another barrage of bullets. A mechanical monstrosity was advancing up the street; spider-like, it had no grace, no smoothness of form. It looked as though it had been bolted together by someone under the influence of illegal drugs – and, knowing the Merchants, this was probably quite close to the truth._

_The plan formed in her head; she could not get close to Skidmark. But if she took his partner, the Tinker called Squealer, he would surrender. Or she would kill Squealer. Either way was a victory._

_She broke away from Skidmark, and ran toward the spider-mech. The legs would not present much of a challenge to climb -_

_Even as the spider opened fire on her from concealed turrets, and she leaped to avoid them, her phone rang._

__**Worst. Possible. Timing.**__

_Tapping the phone to answer it, she held the buzzer to her throat, so as to articulate. The Bluetooth earpiece conveyed her word to the phone on her hip._

_"_What?"__

_"_**Pull back."** It was Krieg's voice.__

_"_But -"__

_"_**I said, **_**pull back**_**. Kaiser's orders. Now."**__

__She glanced back at Skidmark, up at the spider-mech. Gritted her teeth. **Orders are orders.**__

_"_Understood," she replied, then changed course. The spider opened fire on her once more, as did the Merchant minions. Diving behind a parked car, she let the unfortunate vehicle soak up the damage while she pried up a manhole cover.__

__**I could have won this one. Damn it.**__

_The car exploded just after she dropped down the manhole._

* * *

_Legend saw the explosion and angled toward it. Swooping down, he took in the scene; a burning car, a mechanical spider, several members of the Merchants …_

_Skidmark. The **leader** of the Merchants._

_Even as he arrived, the spider-mech was in the process of scooping up Skidmark, secondary arms conveying him up to the cockpit, where the trashily-dressed Squealer controlled the mechanical monstrosity._

_Several Merchants down below fired on Legend as he came to a stop, hovering before the spider-mech. He gestured; a thin red laser beam zig-zagged between the Merchant goons, slicing their guns neatly in two. A blue beam followed it up, freezing each to the spot._

_"_Surrender," he advised the Merchant leader. "Now."__

_He expected a certain amount of posturing. He even expected resistance. What he didn't expect was for the four turrets on that side of the spider to swing his way and hit him with enough force that he was driven back a dozen feet._

_His body flickered and reformed, dispelling most of the damage; he felt himself absorbing a good deal of the rest of the energy. But when he tried to move, he felt himself pinned, trapped. Surprised, he took stock._

_What he had mistaken for an after-image of the energy blast was actually a field around him, glowing a deep blue in colour. He pushed at it; it repelled his hand._

__**Some sort of force bubble,** he surmised. **Emulating Skidmark's trademark field?**__

_It didn't matter; he geared up to blast his way through it. Except that the spider fired again; the attack was absorbed, dragged through the field, slammed into him. When his vision cleared again, he realised that the field was now much thicker, much heavier._

__**This is getting annoying.**__

_And then a blast of sun-bright energy slashed down from the sky, elements of it curling around one another, not unlike DNA. It hit the spider-mech, shearing off all the legs from one side. The mech toppled over, the remaining legs scrabbling frantically, but only managing to drag it around in a circle. Another blast removed the remaining legs._

_Legend's initial attempt to break out of the force bubble was reflected back at him, so he built a construct of force-lasers, none of them directly trying to break through, but ever expanding the volume inside the bubble, until it thinned and popped like a soap bubble. Freed, Legend observed the glowing female form who hung in the air before him._

_"Purity," he stated._

_"Legend," she replied coolly._

_"The Empire Eighty-Eight's been stood down. You're no longer in this fight. I saw Kaiser give the orders."_

_Down below, inside the cockpit of the spider-mech, Skidmark raised his head, shaking it groggily. He started to shake Squealer, trying to rouse her._

_Purity shook her head slightly. "I don't take orders from Kaiser. I left the Empire two years ago."_

_Legend raised an eyebrow. "That's not what my information says."_

_Was that a tightening of the lips? He couldn't tell. "Your information is out of date. I came back to Brockton Bay to help deal with this gang war." She paused. "I will fight on your side, if you'll let me."_

_He frowned. "Is this a one-time thing, or -"_

_"Not a one-time thing," she insisted. "If you won't let me ally myself directly with you, I'll declare myself an independent, but on your side."_

_Skidmark finally managed to rouse Squealer, and she began to fumble with the control panel in front of them._

_Legend shook his head, not so much in denial as confusion. "But why the about-face? Why become a hero?"_

_"I have a child," she reminded him simply. "I always did want to be a hero rather than a villain, but while I was under Max's sway, it was easier to just do what he wanted. Even after I left him, it was simpler to keep my head down and just try to pick away at the ABB when I could. But now that people know my face, my name, her face, her name ..." She trailed off._

_"Ahh," he realised. "You want protection."_

_Her voice was like chilled steel. "And a guarantee that Aster will never be taken away from me."_

_Legend paused. He and Arthur were still working through the adoption process for little Keith, but even now, he could not imagine the infant being taken away from them. It would devastate his husband. And, he admitted to himself, him too._

_"I can't promise anything," he began cautiously, "but if we were to arrange safe housing for you and your daughter -"_

_" - and my stepson Theo as well - " she added quickly._

__Legend recalled the name. **Theodore Richard Anders, fifteen years old. Son of Max Anders. No known powers.**__

_"And him too, yes," he agreed. "If we were to do that, would you be willing to turn yourself in, to stand trial for your crimes, with an eye toward probationary membership in the Protectorate?"_

_The spider-mech's canopy popped off, and the two supervillains spilled out on the ground._

_Purity paused for a long moment. "Yes," she decided eventually. "But I'll want to speak to Security first."_

_Thrown for a second, Legend blinked. "Security?"_

_She nodded. "Yes. The person who rang me and warned me to leave town, on Thursday afternoon."_

__**Before the raid on Coil**, Legend realised. He had been filled in on the fact of the raid, but not its particulars. But there was only one person who could have known what was going to happen that far in advance. __**That **__**Security. Right.**__

_Skidmark and Squealer picked themselves up and prepared to run. Abruptly, they found themselves surrounded by cage walls composed of red laser light._

_"Shouldn't be too hard," Legend assured Purity. "He's on his way to the PRT building right now."_

=/=

_Theo's head jerked up at the knock on the door. He had locked it, and put the chain on, as Kayden had told him. Aster was napping now; he had the TV on low, watching the ongoing commentary on the gang war, trying to tell himself that he had nothing to do with it, that he wasn't watching for Kayden._

_Getting off the bed, he went over to the door. Peering through the peephole, he discovered that it was grimy and blurry; he could see that there were people out there, but who they were, and how many, he wasn't sure._

_"_Who is it?" he called out.__

_"_Management," he heard in reply. "Can you open the door, please?"__

_Almost, he complied. A week ago, he would have obeyed. But Kayden had told him to trust himself. And she had told him to not let anyone in. So he straightened his back, and did not open the door. "Why?" he asked instead._

_"_We've had complaints about noise from your room."__

_He frowned. "What sort of noise? I've kept the TV down low."_

_"_They say there's a crying baby."__

_Theo glanced at Aster, who was sleeping peacefully in the middle of Kayden's bed, a pillow on either side so that she wouldn't roll off of the bed._

_"_Uh, no, there's been no crying in here," he called back. "Maybe another room?"__

_But he was starting to get a really bad feeling about this._

_"_They're certain that it's this room," the implacable voice from outside replied. "Can you open the door please?"__

_If Theo hadn't been looking at Aster, he would not have seen it; the shadow, cast against the curtain of the opposite window. By someone just outside the window, trying to be stealthy._

_"_Sure thing," he called out. "Just a sec, I'm in my underwear."__

_Darting over to where Aster lay, Theo, scooped her up and put her in her carrier. She awoke and lay gasping, as if not sure whether to cry or not._

_"_Sh-sh-sh-sh!" he whispered, lifting the carrier and taking it into the tiny bathroom.__

_He didn't know who was out there, but if they had guns, they might open fire. And he didn't want Aster being shot by accident._

_Carefully, he closed the bathroom door, then went back to the front door. There were no more shadows on the curtains – that had been a mistake by someone, he thought – but he could almost **feel** their presence, pushing inward at him._

_It was the work of a moment to bring the solitary chair over to the door, and set it up so that when he opened the door, the chair would be wedged under the handle._

_He opened the door._

_The first thing he saw was a police officer wearing a SWAT-type helmet. The man was holding a photo and looking at him over it._

_"_That's him!" shouted the cop. "Go go go!" He hit the door with his shoulder. The chain would have broken in an instant, but the chair held. As the officer rebounded, Theo threw his own not inconsiderable weight against the door, slammed it, and locked it. Then he wedged the chair up under the handle.__

_That was when the glass broke out of the window, on both sides of the room at once._

_"_Get away!" he screamed. "Go away! Leave me alone! Don't hurt her!"__

_They took no notice of him, scrambling through the windows, pointing guns. In the dusty dimness, he could see laser lines connecting the guns to his body, lining up on his vital organs._

_"_Get down!" one officer shouted. "On the floor! Hands where I can see them!"__

_Shakily, he knelt, holding his hands out to the sides like a supplicant. An officer behind him grabbed them and was just about to handcuff him when Aster cried out. Someone had entered the bathroom._

_"_ASTER!" he screamed, struggling free. "ASTER! Don't touch her! Don't hurt her!"__

_It took four of them to subdue him._

=/=

I slowed down a bit after I left the area that was being contested by the rival gang members. If I recalled right, the farther south I got, the closer to the PRT building, the less prominent the gang presence was anyway. And the area previously controlled by the ABB was well behind me; not wanting to get a speeding ticket over and above all else that had happened that day, I let my speed drop back down to legal levels.

It was almost eerie. Not so far behind me, gangs had been fighting tooth and nail for territory; people were being hurt, wounded, even killed. Capes were clashing with capes. And yet, just a few kilometres away, people were acting as if nothing was wrong.

It was bizarre. It was a product of this world. In a world where Endbringers could virtually wipe a city from the map, people just … dealt with it. They picked themselves up, accepted the losses, and moved on.

Not for the first time, I mused that the world of Worm was populated by the walking wounded. Everyone had scar tissue. Some of it was even visible.

I was still thinking about this, rolling down a quiet back street, when I heard the scream of pure fear from quite nearby.

_What the fuck?_

Pulling the pickup around the corner into a side street, I saw something that made my blood run cold.

The street I had just driven into was a service road, barely wider than an alleyway. There were no sidewalks, and it was just about wide enough to let two cars pass, side by side.

Running toward me, eyes wide with terror, was a young woman, dragging a boy along by his arm. Behind them, headlights glaring on full, two cars full of people, roared and surged their engines, steadily catching them up.

They were never going to make it.

But if I intervened, I would be going up against at least six, maybe eight or more, drunk or stoned gang members of some sort.

I sighed. "Fuck it."

Turning my lights on high-beam, I accelerated down the side-street. Straight down the centreline. The woman and the boy could pass me by, but the cars were going to have to either stop, or hit me. There was no third option.

_Where's a superhero when you really need one?_

* * *

End of Chapter Thirty-Seven


	38. Chapter 38

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Reaping the Whirlwind

* * *

**Boston**

_Theo lifted his head as Aster wailed again. His face was scraped, and one nostril was crusted with dried blood. "Can I see her?" he pleaded. "Hold her? She knows me. She __**likes**__ me. She's scared. Can't you hear that?"_

_The police officer shook his head. "No. We've got our orders. We keep you separate. That way, you can't get up to mischief."_

_Theo moved his left arm, but not too far. The handcuff on his wrist rattled as it slid along the metal head-frame of the bed he was sitting on. He gestured at it, at himself. "Listen, it's not like I'm going to overpower you or anything."_

"_Look, Theodore," the cop stated._

"_Theo," he corrected the man automatically. "No-one calls me Theodore."_

"_Theo, then." The police officer sighed. "You assaulted officers of the law, Theo. Normally, that's a chargeable offence. But we're not charging you. We're just keeping you in protective custody until Purity's behind bars."_

_Theo was desperate. "Just let me see Aster. I just want to make sure she's okay."_

"_Sorry. Orders." The policeman turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. The click as it closed held a certain finality, a certain inevitability. He wouldn't be opening that door from his side._

_Theo stood up, tugging on the handcuff. It clattered again. He knew better than to try to move the bed; it was bolted to the floor, and was quite sturdy enough to withstand his strength, even if he'd been fit and capable. And even if he could, then he was stuck behind a locked door. The door was cored with steel, he knew, under the wood veneer; he had seen too many of that type while growing up with his father to mistake that now._

_Even if he could move the bed, or lose the handcuffs, if by some miracle he could get through that door, he would still be in the concrete-lined basement of a SWAT safe house, with only one way out. Past an unknown number of armed, trained officers of the law, any one of whom could subdue him with relative ease._

_Aster wailed again, the sound of her voice still audible through the thick door. He knew her well enough to know that cry; she was scared, among strangers, and the policewoman who was trying to care for her didn't know how to calm her down._

_He wanted to just go to her, hold her, soothe her. Kayden had given him just one task, to care for her child, his half-sister. And he had failed in that._

_He had failed Kayden._

_Just as Max had always told him, he was a failure._

_He sat on the bed again, face in his hands. Tears ran from his eyes._

_Aster wailed again. The desolate cry tore his heart right in two._

=/=/=

**Brockton Bay**

I had seconds in which to think, to act. I didn't even bother trying to think things through. I just acted.

The narrow street, with tall brick buildings on either side. No pavement to speak of. A woman, in her thirties, dragging a kid, maybe ten, by the arm. The look of desperation mirrored on each face. Running toward me. Behind them, two cars, accelerating now to catch up with them. They'd been playing cat and mouse, letting their prospective victims think they might have a chance, but now a new factor had joined the game.

Me.

But they'd left it too late. I swerved to the right, letting the woman and her son run past. Ahead of me, one car slowed, while the other accelerated.

If I'd practised, rehearsed, I probably would have screwed it up badly. But acting on instinct, it is sometimes possible to get something right where thinking about it would lead to failure. I'd been driving my own utility vehicle for over twenty years; the handling of Michael Allen's pickup was almost identical. What I wanted to do was a mirror image of what I would have done with my own ute, given the different driving laws in the United States. Fortunately, muscle memory took over.

Just in time, I corrected, my bullbar only striking the wall a glancing blow. Running alongside the right-hand wall now, I felt rather than heard the oversized wing mirror hit the wall, get pushed back into the side of the vehicle. I touched once, twice, heard the pickup lose paint on the brickwork. _Kurt's gonna be pissed._

I barely had time for even that fleeting thought; the car to my left was taking advantage of the gap to surge forward, to pass on by, while the car in front of me was dropping back in order to move over.

Except that I had other ideas.

At the last second, I spun the wheel, wrenching it over with main force. The old pickup responded gamely, swerving out from the wall at an angle; dimly, I felt the tray scraping as the vehicle pivoted away from the wall, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that I hit the car squarely.

I braced myself, leaning back in my seat so that the belt had the most amount of play, just before I hit.

I hit the one on the left first. The pickup ploughed into him at an angle, my bullbar smashing into his left side headlight, and the weight of my vehicle smashing him sideways into the wall.

The impact was tremendous, jolting me to my core. I was thrown forward, fetching up hard against the seat belt strap. While my stab vest protected me against the one across my chest, the one over my waist bit in cruelly. My head rang with the sound, with the impact, with the sheer force of what had just happened.

I was dimly aware that the engine had stalled out, that the front end of the first car was crumpled into mine. Groggily, I shook my head to clear it.

And that was when the _second _car hit the pickup.

=/=/=

"_Move, move, move!" Trucks and cars stood idling as Empire Eighty-Eight troops climbed into them. As each vehicle was full up, it moved off._

_The order had gone out; pull back all Empire soldiers from ABB territory. Normally, Kaiser would not have risked his vehicles like this, but these were special circumstances. After his talk with Legend, with the enigmatic Security, he wanted his forces to be out of the way before the next shoe fell._

_Hookwolf stalked around the perimeter of the crowd of Empire soldiers. "We're __**not retreating!**__" he shouted. "We're falling back! These are orders! Kaiser's gonna let the stoners and the chinks kill each other off, then pick up the pieces! Does anyone not understand this? Good! Then get on those fuckin' trucks!"_

_He was looking outward; he didn't see the dark, cloaked figure appear briefly beside the nearest truck, then crumble to ash. But when the truck exploded, it got his attention._

_Metal speared out of his body, covering his flesh, even as debris both mechanical and organic rained down around him. The truck had been almost fully loaded, packed with soldiers. The explosion had blasted it apart, along with the soldiers on board. Not a few soldiers in the crowd yet waiting to board had also been caught in the blast. Most of these were dead; a few were merely mutilated and maimed._

_Nearly everyone except for Hookwolf himself had either been knocked flat by the blast, or had dived for cover in the aftermath. Which meant that when the dark figure appeared again, in the middle of his prone soldiers, Hookwolf saw him clearly. Saw the grimacing demon mask. Saw the bandoleer of grenades._

"_Oni Lee," he growled._

_Gleaming metallic claws slid into place along his forearms, and he leaped to the attack._

=/=/=

"_Squad six," Taylor reported over the mic provided, "A bunch of ABB around the corner to your right. Kid Win and Aegis, you're closest. I'll direct you."_

"_**Squad six actual, Weaver. Roger that,"**__ the squad leader replied. __**"I copy ABB to the right. We'll hold and wait for the capes. Squad six, out."**_

_Taylor landed a number of bugs on Kid Win's visor, setting them in a vertical line. She walked them around until they were over the Tinker's right eye. As he turned his head, they adjusted their positions. He twigged quickly, kicking over his flying skateboard and heading in the direction provided. Aegis, seeing this, followed him._

_Taylor turned off the mic. "That should cover that," she murmured. "Oh, hey, Vicky and the rest of New Wave are out there. Amy, could I get some bugs for that?"_

"_Sure," Amy replied cheerfully. "Individual logos or just gold or something?"_

_Taylor grinned. "Showoff," she accused Amy playfully. "Just gold for the time being." She put an arm around the bio-tinker's shoulders and gave her a hug. "I really could not have done this without you, you know."_

_Amy smiled, and hugged her back. "I know. I'm just glad those relay bugs work so well. And the spy bugs."_

"_Tell me about it," Taylor replied. "Without those, I'd have to be there, on the spot. And I've already found out how dangerous that is." She shivered. "Going against Lung was the scariest thing I've ever done."_

_Amy opened her hand, and half a dozen bugs sat there, all coloured a bright gold. They flew down to the map; while four of them sat on the sidelines, along with other colour-coded insects, two took their place at the edge of the map._

"_All units, all units," Taylor reported. "New Wave is on the map. They are represented by gold bugs. Repeat, gold bugs." She grinned at Amy. "I wonder if they would prefer me to call them 'markers' or something."_

_Amy shrugged. "Markers, bugs, you're keeping them all in the loop. That's gotta be handy, having a bug whistler on call." She paused, frowning. "I think I just had an idea."_

_Taylor looked at her expectantly, then she realised that Amy could not see her expression inside the mask. "Yeah?" she asked._

"_Yeah," Amy confirmed. "I think I need … half a dozen medium sized bugs." She held out her hand; seconds later, six bugs of average size were perched on her palm. "Damn, that's what I call service."_

"_You're welcome," Taylor teased her. "So what's the idea?"_

"_Show you in a second," Amy retorted. "Don't be so impatient."_

_Taylor rolled her eyes inside the mask, then keyed her mic. "Squad three, I've got explosions three blocks west of your location. You got them?"_

"_**Squad three actual, Weaver. Roger that. We heard the bang, but no other information, over."**_

"_I'll have more for you in a moment … ah. It looks like vehicles … men. Hurt men. A fight, going on. Someone keeps disappearing … Oni Lee. I think someone's fighting Oni Lee. And there's more explosions. Uh, over."_

_As Amy watched, bugs moved on to the map and stopped in the position that Taylor was indicating._

"_**Roger that, Weaver. Cape fight involving Oni Lee. Civilians in the area, over?"**_

_Taylor frowned. "I'm just getting … it looks like Empire gang members. Over."_

_Armsmaster's voice cut in. __**"Squad three, move in. Use caution. Do not engage unless civilians are endangered. I'll want an ID on the other cape. Over."**_

"_**Squad three actual, copy that. Move in, use caution. Squad three, out."**_

_Taylor keyed her mic off and turned back to Amy. The biokinetic was holding a bizarre-looking insect that looked like the unlikely offspring of a cicada, a moth and a cricket. As Taylor watched, Amy touched it lightly, and it impinged itself on Taylor's mental map of bug locations. At the same time, information on its capabilities fed itself into her mind, and she blinked._

"_No sting, can barely fly. It's big and bulky, but not particularly dangerous. So why … oh."_

_Amy grinned. "Oh yeah. Make it say something."_

_In Amy's palm, the bug sat up somewhat and began making noises, more or less at random._

"_Huh, okay," Taylor murmured. "So if I do this … "_

_The insect started a buzzing noise that muted itself and then turned into a hum. The hum grew into words._

"_**Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb ..."**_

_It stopped singing; Taylor stared at it, eyes wide. There had been a slight buzz to some of the sounds, but the bug had been able to combine different sounds and make a perfectly recognisable voice._

"_I mean, I know you can do voices, sort of, with a swarm, but …" Amy began._

_Taylor nodded. "But this little guy can do it all by himself. I love it." She hugged Amy again. "That's __**awesome**__, Amy. It really is. I never even thought of it. __**Mike**__ never thought of it. That makes you smarter than the guy who taught me everything I know about being a superhero."_

_Amy blushed pink. " … really?" she asked, almost shyly._

"_**Really," **__confirmed the bug on Amy's hand. Startled, she jumped and then giggled. But she wasn't giggling so hard that she could not return Taylor's fist-bump._

=/=/=

**Meanwhile, on Earth Aleph ...**

_The bus pulled up at the stop. People crowded off of it, walking away in both directions along the pavement. One of the last to alight was a young man wearing a hoodie and sunglasses; he averted his gaze from the remainder of his fellow passengers, especially another young couple. The couple, a young man with swarthy skin and a hooked nose, and a pretty brunette, did not notice the last passenger to get off, as he began to walk back in the direction that the bus had come._

_The bus pulled away from the stop; the young couple walked on, not quite hand in hand, although they were walking rather close together. Once the young man in the hoodie was was well away, he crossed the street and paralleled their movement._

"_So, Krouse," Noelle Meinhardt addressed her companion, "it's been four days now. I haven't had an outbreak in all that time. You think it's on the level? That I'm really cured?"_

_Francis Krouse shrugged. "How am I to know? All I know is that you're alive, and you're back in the right shape again. I don't want to push our luck."_

_Noelle sighed. "Krouse. Francis. I get it that we've all been through a really horrible time. But it's over now." She smiled. "I'm just glad that your parents were so understanding."_

_Francis chuckled. "Personally, I figure they think we ran off to get married in Vegas or something, and the whole 'trapped in Earth Bet' story is a cover-up."_

"_At least you didn't show off your powers," she noted. "That might have let the cat out of the bag."_

_He nodded. "Trapped in Earth Bet for two years, that's one thing. Trapped in Earth Bet and came back with super-powers, that's a whole new level of bizarre." He sighed. "I'd be happy if I never had to use them again."_

"_I notice you didn't ask to have them taken away, like Marissa," she teased him. "So you're not __**totally**__ against having them."_

"_Hey, having powers can be useful," he protested. "I just don't want to be a professional hero, like Luke."_

_She rolled her eyes. "He's certainly into it, isn't he? Aleph's got only a fraction of the capes Bet's got, so he's got a good chance of making money doing it."_

"_Talking about money, do you think we've got half a chance of getting any work, any time soon?"_

_She nudged his shoulder with hers. "Well, all we can do is drop our resumes off, and apply for whatever's going. Our savings aren't going to last forever."_

_He pretended irritation. "Much more of this, and I might see if Luke wants a partner after all."_

"_Oh, __**stop**__ it," she told him with a chuckle. "This is much less fraught than applying for work with supervillains. Remember Accord?"_

"_Oh god," he replied with a shudder. "Don't remind me. Cody nearly got Marissa killed. She only got out of it because she's still got those ballet moves going."_

"_Oh, we were talking about that on the phone last night," Noelle recalled. "She's going to start training again. See if she can't get back into it. And she's got Jess and Oliver rooming with her."_

"_Huh, cool," he responded. "Well, I can't see Oliver having much problem getting a job. He's ripped, these days."_

"_He's still fairly shy," she reminded him. "But get this. Marissa was telling me that Jess was saying that she was getting weird feelings in her legs. Like her nerves were working again. Looks like Panacea actually helped her after all."_

"_Well, damn," he replied. "That's gotta be some kind of awesome for her."_

"_I know, right?"_

_They turned the corner and kept walking, still chatting away._

_The figure shadowing them followed on, keeping its distance._

_**Soon, Krouse. Soon.**_

=/=/=

**Earth Bet**

"_Wow," Taylor told Amy. "I just had two fliers, moving fast, cut across just … here." A bug zoomed over the map. "Looks like they're heading for the PRT building."_

"_Get any other details?" asked Amy. She opened her hand, and another ketamine wasp flew out to join the others currently orbiting Taylor._

"_One might have been Legend," Taylor replied. "The other one was shining, way too bright for me to get a good look at him or her. Lady Photon?"_

"_Uh, isn't Aunt Sarah with the rest of New Wave?" pointed out Amy._

_Taylor blinked behind her goggles. "Oh yeah, she is too. What capes do we have who shine that brightly?"_

_Amy frowned. "The only one I can think of is a villain."_

"_What, really?" asked Taylor._

"_Yeah," Amy replied. "Purity." She paused. "But you said they were flying together. Not one chasing the other."_

_Taylor nodded. "I don't recall everything about Purity, but I think Legend can outfly her ten times over. And these two did look like they were flying together."_

_Amy shrugged. "I guess we'll find out when we find out." She cupped her hands together, forming another speaker-bug._

_Taylor keyed her comm. "Squad two, you have ..."_

* * *

" … _**a whole lot of Merchants, one block down. No capes that I can see. Police are on site, but they're badly outnumbered. You might want to make a move along. Uh, over."**_

_Paige heard the squad leader replying on the radio. "Squad two actual, roger that, Weaver. On our way." He switched to the local channel, and began giving orders to the squad; the truck sped up. Everyone grabbed for handholds._

"_You ready?" Joe asked her, quietly._

_She nodded. "As I'll ever be."_

"_So what's that thing you'll be reading?" he queried._

_She smiled tightly, trying to will away the butterflies in her stomach. At least putting on the makeup had made the shakes go away. "Something I read one time. It seemed to fit our needs."_

_The truck screeched to a halt; the PRT troops debarked in what seemed to be mere seconds. The only ones left in the back of the truck were Paige and Joe, and the sound equipment. Leaning forward, Paige could see out through the windshield. Ahead was a mass of gang members in Merchant colours, waving various weapons. Opposing them was a thin line of police, wearing protective gear, but not looking altogether secure in their position._

_The PRT troopers, better armoured and armed, moved into formation behind the police, causing some of the Merchants to take a step back. But most of them kept moving forward. One on one, they were no match for a police officer or a PRT soldier. But even with the reinforcements, the forces of law and order were sadly outnumbered._

"_What's the matter?" asked Paige worriedly. "Why haven't they called on me yet?"_

"_Don't want the cops being affected," Joe suggested. And now that he had mentioned it, she could see troopers handing out small modules, built by Kid Win. They were more basic versions of the electronic ears that Joe had in his helmet, designed to cut out the hypnotic overtones of her voice._

"_I just hope they don't take too long," she replied._

"_Nearly done, I think," he assured her._

_And indeed, at that moment, the radio in her helmet cut in._

"_**Squad two actual to Tweety Bird. Time to sing. Repeat, time to sing. Over."**_

_She pressed the button as Joe had shown her, and replied. "Tweety Bird here. Singing in five."_

_Letting off the button, she gave Joe a brave grin. "I guess it's better than Fat Lady, huh?"_

_He barely had time to chuckle before she picked up the microphone and switched it on._

_Outside the truck, the Merchants were still advancing on the thin line of PRT troops, backing the even thinner line of police officers. Bottles were starting to fly through the air, along with rocks and other improvised missiles. Some of the police had riot shields; others had no option other than to duck and hope._

_Paige cleared her throat and began humming into the microphone. She didn't sing to begin with; instead, she merely went through the scales, then began a simple tune, a popular tune, a catchy tune. Her exquisite voice rolled out over the crowd, the effect rippling down the street until they were all listening intently. They could not help but listen; her voice was water in the desert, ambrosia to a starving man, the very breath in their lungs. Liquid music spilled from the speakers atop the truck, and soaked into their very beings._

_The Merchants were still moving forward, but they were no longer throwing things. Their weapons still waved in the air, but not with any serious intent._

_And then Paige began to speak, reading from the electronic tablet that Joe held before her. Into her voice, she poured her all; that which, absent, made her voice merely very beautiful. With it, her words were … something else. To the receptive mind, they bypassed the critical faculties and defined how the world was to be._

"_**Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story ..."**_

_The Merchants slowed and stopped, listening as the glorious voice rolled over them, speaking to their souls. One by one, weapons dropped to the ground, as tears began to roll down their cheeks._

_The police and the PRT moved in and started to secure their prisoners. The crowd, as a whole, did not give themselves up. Indeed, less than half did, the rest slipping away while the forces of law ad order were busy with their compatriots. But it was certainly the quietest mass arrest that any of them had ever participated in._

_After she finished the reading, Paige shut off the microphone and sat back, her heart still racing in her chest. Joe stared at her, then at the tablet._

"_Wow," he muttered. "I didn't get the full effect of that, and it was still beautiful."_

_Paige nodded. "I always thought so." But her expression was pensive._

"_What's the matter?" he asked her. "You just stopped a riot, single-handedly. I'd think you'd be happier."_

"_I am happy, Joe," she told him. "Truly I am. But … did I just brainwash all those people out there to be good people? Do I even have that right?"_

"_Uh, I don't know," Joe admitted. "I really don't know if it was brainwashing. Maybe more of a reminder that there's another way to be. But either way, I guess it's better than the alternative?"_

_Which wasn't a perfect answer, or even a good one. But it was the best one she would get for the time being._

=/=/=

_The guards atop the PRT building came to attention as Legend streaked in, coming to a halt above the helipad. They stared at Purity as she arrived beside the blue-and-white costumed hero. Skidmark and Squealer thudded to the non-skid surface, just yards from the guards' boots._

"_She's with me for the moment," Legend told the guards, indicating the glowing cape. "Do us all a favour and don't try to shoot her."_

"_Uh, yes, sir," responded the senior guard. "And these …?"_

"_Get them into the cells," Legend suggested. "Right now, the Merchants are the biggest problem that we have. ABB's down to one cape, and Empire Eighty-Eight is stepping out of this fight. Without leadership, hopefully, the Merchants will wither up and fade away."_

"_Sir!" replied the guard crisply. He keyed his comm. "This is roof guard. We need men up here, on the double."_

_Legend nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then." He turned to Purity. "Shall we go and do a little more cleaning up?"_

_Purity inclined her head. "After you."_

_Seconds later, they were gone, with just trails of light showing where they had been._

_Skidmark blinked his way back to consciousness. The first thing he saw was a faceless PRT soldier, pointing a rifle directly at his favourite head. And his arms were secured behind his back._

_He groaned. "Oh, __**camel**__ bollocks."_

=/=/=

_The two officers on patrol had picked the wrong street to drive down. A group of ABB were gathered around their car, rocking it back and forth, while the men inside tried to call out for assistance. Unfortunately, the radio aerials had been the first things to go._

_Within the car, the police officers drew their service weapons. They really didn't want to have to try to shoot their way out of this situation, but it was looking fairly dire, and they didn't see many other options at the moment._

_And then, in a storm of barking and growling, the Asian gang members were ripped away from the side of the car and sent sprawling to the street. Prehensile tails whipped out, smashing men to the ground or throwing them against walls._

_Slowly, cautiously, the police officers climbed from the car and looked around. The ABB gang members were down and groaning, the fight gone out of them._

"_You're welcome."_

_Both of them turned, their guns coming up. Three enormous dogs – or something dog-shaped, resembling a cross between a dinosaur and a rhinoceros – stood there, bearing four riders between them. The one who had spoken, a slender girl in a dark coloured costume, with dirty-blonde hair and a cheerful grin, waved._

"_Hey, don't shoot. We're on your side, this time." She nodded to the prone gang members. "You might want to see to those guys, anyway."_

_One of the officers spoke. "Aren't you … villains? The Undersiders, or something? And didn't you rob a bank the other day?"_

"_And now we're saving you from street gangs," retorted the dark-haired kid in the ren-faire costume. "Geez, get with the program."_

_The tall one in the motorcycle leathers, and the helmet with the skull on it, gestured to the gang members as pure darkness seemed to flow from his very body. His voice was hollow, disembodied. "They're starting to come to. You might want to hurry."_

_And with that, the three dogs wheeled and dashed into the cloud of darkness, leaving the officers to put restraints on the groaning gang members._

* * *

_Lisa grinned as they galloped away down the street. "That was __**fun.**__"_

"_Yeah," Alec replied. "I love telling cops what to do."_

_Behind her mask, Lisa rolled her eyes. "Not what I meant."_

"_Where to now?" Rachel wanted to know._

"_Rooftops," Brian told her. "We need to look out for -"_

_Lisa's phone chimed. She dug it out of her utility belt and opened the mail._

"_What is it?" asked Brian._

"_Rachel, turn the dogs around," Lisa ordered, ignoring him. "We need to be someplace. Right now."_

"_Where?" asked Alec. "And better yet, why?"_

"_Not entirely sure," Lisa admitted. "But it's important. I know that much."_

=/=/=

**Boston**

"_Get that glass replaced!" barked the PRT senior officer. "We need the foam sprayers installed ASAP! We don't know how long she's going to be!"_

_The area around the motel, and especially room 17, was a carefully coordinated madhouse. Officers held new panes of glass into place, while others swept up the shards of the ones broken by the assault. The motel was in the process of being evacuated; while Purity had not been active in Boston, at least recently, a look at the files gave an idea of how much power she could muster. Civilian casualties were to be avoided at all cost, so the PRT were putting the motel guests up at another place, three blocks away, at government expense._

_The owner of the motel had been horrified when he found that a well-known supervillain had been living under his roof, and even more horrified to realise that when she returned, an ambush would be sprung to capture her._

"_Your son called it in, sir," the lieutenant told him. "That's a civic-minded boy you have there."_

"_Civic-minded, my ass!" stormed Stevens. "That boy's a menace! She wasn't doing anyone any harm! Why couldn't you let her leave, and ambush her somewhere else?"_

"_Because right here's the best place," the lieutenant tried to soothe him. "It's away from the rest of the Empire Eighty-Eight, so she's got no backup."_

"_And my motel?" demanded Stevens. "What happens if your little ambush fails, and she demolishes my motel?"_

"_Well, sir," the lieutenant hedged, trying not to sweat too obviously, "if the PRT is found to be at fault, we will of course repair the damage to the value of the property."_

"_There's not just the PRT involved," Stevens snapped. "I've seen your capes around too. What if they cut loose? This motel's my livelihood!"_

"_Once again, sir, if there is damage to the property, we will supply you with the appropriate forms for compensation. The responsible parties will of course reimburse you, once the forms have been validated and the damage assessed."_

"_Six months after the fact, I bet," growled Stevens. "Wait, who's that sitting at my desk?"_

"_Plainclothes PRT officer," the lieutenant informed him. "He'll hold down your duties until the danger's over. You may as well go home, sir. We'll inform you when it's done."_

"_You bet I'll go home," Stevens told him. "I'm going to be putting in a complaint to your Director's office. And just so you know? Every last bit of damage you and your men cause, you will be billed for." He paused. "So why did Jared call you anyway? The boy's so lazy he wouldn't get out of his own way."_

_The lieutenant shrugged. "I understand he was seeking some sort of reward."_

_Stevens frowned. "Yeah? How much?"_

_The lieutenant shook his head. "None. There's a reward out for Kaiser's capture, but not Purity's. She hasn't made the radar for a while."_

"_Oh, for __**fuck's**__ sake," growled the motel owner as he climbed into his car. "Kid stirs up all this shit and there's not even any money it it."_

_As Stevens drove out of the parking lot, the lieutenant clicked his radio. "Red three here. Owner has left the premises. Over."_

"_**Roger that, red three. Owner off site. Out."**_

_**I don't blame him for being pissed,**__ the lieutenant mused. __**He must be having a pretty crappy day.**_

=/=/=

_**This is the worst day of my life.**_

_Theo yanked on the chain of the handcuff for the tenth, twentieth, hundredth time. It rattled and hurt his wrist, but the cuff failed to miraculously spring open, and the chain held firm. He could still hear Aster crying. She wasn't as loud now, but that just meant she was getting tired, not that she was any less distressed._

_He closed his eyes, trying to block out his situation. That didn't help. Kaiser's face swam into his view, stern and forbidding. __**Are you sure you're my son? You certainly don't act like it.**_

"_No ..." He shook his head violently._

_Kaiser was replaced by Kayden. __**I trust you to look after Aster. Make sure nothing happens to her.**_

_Tears stung his eyelids as he felt pure, utter despair._

"_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I failed you ..."_

_Aster wailed again._

_His eyes snapped open, but he was no longer seeing the concrete cell. Before his eyes was a desolate landscape, populated by creatures from nightmare. Crimson lightning flashed across the sky, then a massive block of stone punched toward the sky. He was overwhelmed, his senses reeling._

_And then he was back in the cell._

_He looked at the walls, the floor, the metal of the bed. And he __**smiled.**_

=/=/=

**Brockton Bay**

"_**Heads up!" **__snapped Weaver over their radio headsets. __**"That Merchant group has run into the ABB. We've got a free for all going on. Some of the Merchant capes are in on it too."**_

"_Well, crap," Clockblocker groused._

"_Don't worry," Vista soothed him. "I'll protect you."_

"_You can't see it, but I'm rolling my eyes," Clockblocker informed her._

"_Wards, can the chatter," snapped Armsmaster. "We've got to step this up. We've done a good job so far, but there's still a lot to do."_

"_**I'll soften them up for you," **__Weaver offered._

"_I've got to admit," Clockblocker commented, "it's nice to see someone __**else**__ covered in bugs."_

"_Your offer is accepted, Weaver," Armsmaster replied. "Any time you're ready."_

"_**My bugs were **_**hatched****_ ready."_**

_As they moved up, the Protectorate forces watched the swarm descend upon the fighting gang members. What started with irritation quickly turned to fear and then terror as the combatants realised that the bugs were just going to keep it up. Everything that could bite, bit. Stinging insects gave half-strength stings, just in case. Other bugs crawled into the mouths, the noses and ears of the gang members. And the ketamine wasps, held in reserve until now, swept in. Everyone who was holding a gun or a knife found their hand numb, unresponsive._

_By the time Armsmaster reached the scene of the fight, more than half of them had abandoned the conflict to try to get the bugs off of themselves. He found himself in the odd position of being asked to accept their surrender, just so long as he got the bugs off of them. And, somewhat to his surprise, as each person surrendered to him, the bugs indeed left them. Or at least, they stopped stinging and biting._

_Of course, not everyone was surrendering. Mush and Whirlygig, of the Merchants, had been wading through the battle, and now turned their attention to the new arrivals. Mush was seven feet tall, resembling a golem composed of all sorts of unsightly garbage. Whirlygig, a woman with long flowing clothes and hair that hung over her face, had a whirlwind composed of trash spinning around her, making it almost impossible to get close to her._

_Weaver's bugs were being blown away as fast as they approached Whirlygig, while whatever Mush used for eyes in his bulked-up form were apparently not vulnerable to bugs._

_Armsmaster moved in to the attack, drawing his halberd and unfolding it in one swift move. The head crackled with power as he faced off with Mush._

_Velocity came running in. He moved toward Whirlygig, dancing between the cowering gang members at lightning speed. Before she was aware of his presence, he whipped around her once, then left her zone of control, coming to a halt near the Wards._

"_What did you do?" asked Clockblocker._

_Velocity grinned. "She has to be able to see to use her power."_

_And it was true, he had taken part of the drapery which she wore, and wrapped it around and around her head. The wind faltered and died, as she tried to untangle herself. Clockblocker glanced at Vista; she collapsed the space between them and the Merchant villain to a fraction of what it really was._

"_Thanks," he told his teammate as he reached out and froze the villain._

_In the meantime, Armsmaster was circling Mush; the massively built garbage monster was swinging a keg-sized fist, trying to score on the armoured hero, but was not even coming close. And with every swing of his halberd, another chunk of Mush came loose. But there was a lot of garbage; this was going to take some time._

"_Can you repeat the favour?" asked Clockblocker._

_Vista grinned, and closed the distance. Clockblocker reached out and applied his power once more. However, it didn't freeze all of Mush, or even all of the garbage. It did, however, leave a large chunk of it hanging in midair as he stepped away from it, pulling free with a loud ripping noise._

_This did not leave Mush open, but after another treatment of the same kind, enough of Mush's skin was exposed that Armsmaster was able to get in a stunning blow with the halberd. The villain slumped to the ground, garbage falling off of him and branching tentacles retracting into his skin. What was left was a wizened little man who looked not unlike a certain horrid little fantasy creature with a penchant for magic rings._

"_Okay, wrap 'em up," Armsmaster decided. "Weaver, anything more around that you can see?"_

=/=/=

Were it not for the seatbelt, I would have been thrown around the cabin of the pickup. As it was, it took me three tries to undo the buckle, once everything stopped spinning around and around. I hurt all over; my ribs hurt, my head hurt, and I was fairly sure that I'd wrenched my neck. The door opened as I pulled on the handle, and I fell out on to the road.

Dimly, over the ringing in my ears, I heard the guys in the cars yelling. I put my hand on the doorsill, and got to my knees, and then to my feet. I felt about as crappy as I had when I'd first had Bakuda's bomb removed from my neck. Or worse. It was hard to gauge.

It was time to call in the cavalry. I felt for my phone. Or rather, I felt in the pouch where my phone was normally kept. It was empty.

I blinked and stared at the seat of the pickup. No phone. _It didn't fall out._

_Oh shit. Menja took it off me, and never gave it back._

That reminded me; the extendible baton was gone too.

_Fuck._

I didn't think the pickup was still drivable, and I was fairly sure that I was in no condition to drive. My head was swimming, and I wanted to throw up. But I turned the key anyway. The engine turned over once, then quit.

I still had other things to use; Menja hadn't taken my stun gun or pepper spray away. But in a vague, dizzy way, I felt that I needed more.

One of the Merchants appeared around the front of my pickup, brandishing a knife. He stalked toward me, waving the knife, mouthing off. Or I thought he was mouthing off. My ears weren't ringing as badly as they had been, but I could only catch a word here and there.

Whatever; I pulled out the pepper spray and let him have it, right between the eyes.

I had to say, the stuff was potent. He screamed and went down, writhing in agony and clawing at his eyes. My respect for Lung went up a couple of notches; he'd been hit by this stuff and had kept on going.

Something smacked into the small of my back; I looked around, and realised that another guy had come around the tail end of the pickup, and tried to jam a knife into my kidneys. _Thank you, stab vest._

I figured he was a little close for the pepper spray – I did _not_ want that shit anywhere near my face, thank you very much – so I fumbled the stun gun from its pouch. He was still trying to figure out why his knife wasn't going in, when I pressed it against him and hit the button.

There were more coming, but my head was clearing. I stuffed the stun gun away, reached down and pulled the little lever that flicked the seat forward. There was the small nylon zipper case, which I tucked under my arm, and then there was the other thing. The two foot steel pry bar which I keep behind my car seat. Just in case I need to pry something open. Or, you know, smack some Merchants around. It wasn't as concealable as an extendible baton, but I was willing to take what I could get.

The third Merchant arrived while I was stepping away from the car. My pry bar was at the wrong angle to hit him, so I sprayed him, turned, and smacked the knife out of his hand.

That worried me, that I had to actually hit him to make him lose the knife. It meant that the spray canister was losing pressure. Fortunately, I had spares.

Which were inside a zippered case. I had the spares; what I needed now was a few seconds of leeway to open it and get them out, without getting shanked or even just plain dogpiled.

So I ran for it.

Or, well, staggered for it.

I'm not a good runner at the best of times. Check that; I'm not a runner at all. But I managed a fair approximation of one, at least for the first ten yards. Or maybe five. I wasn't counting. But I knew they weren't going to be far behind me.

It occurred to me when I stopped and turned that I could have locked myself in the pickup until my head cleared, or even just to give myself breathing room to get the pepper spray canisters out of the case. But I didn't dwell on it; tucking the pry bar under my arm, I unzipped the case.

And the canisters fell straight out of it, on to the ground at my feet; I must have jarred them out of the little sleeves that normally held them.

_Fuck._

There wasn't time to worry about it; I dropped the case, grabbed the pry bar, and swung it hard at the next guy to come at me. I missed, but he jumped backward anyway. But then, another guy was stepping up beside him. They both grinned at me; I rather wished that they hadn't, as their dental hygiene rivalled what I'd read of their not so illustrious leader.

I wondered if I'd be able to get down, grab a pepper spray, and get up again in time to fend off the inevitable attack. I wondered how far I'd be able to run before they caught me and cut me to pieces.

When numbers three and four arrived, I knew I was well and truly up that proverbial creek, and not a paddle in sight.

I had to throw a Hail Mary pass; straight-arming the already-used pepper spray, I swung it in an arc while depressing the trigger. Barely any vapour puffed out, but they recoiled anyway. I tossed the canister, dropped to one knee, and grabbed a fresh one. Before they could decide to come at me, I was standing once more, pepper spray in one hand, pry bar in the other. I had a chance now; only a slight one, but a lot better than nothing.

"Come on!" I yelled, brandishing both weapons. _"Come on!"_

This was more to psych myself up rather than intimidate them, but to my total and utter jaw-dropping surprise, they retreated. They backed up to my pickup, turned, scrambled past it, and _ran._

I blinked.

"Fuck," I muttered. "I'm not _that_ scary, am I?"

And then I realised what was going on.

"I'm not alone, am I?" I asked out loud.

"No, you are not," I heard from behind me.

A smile crossed my face as I turned to look. The bulk of three enormous dog-monsters blocked the alleyway; their savage visages glared down at me.

I didn't care; I would have shovelled doggy chow for a week, for those beasts. "Boy, am I glad you guys showed up."

Tattletale nodded. "I got a text. It appears that you have a guardian angel."

I nodded. "I had my hopes. Thanks for showing."

Grue gestured at my damaged pickup. "Is that thing drivable?"

"I don't think so," I ventured, "but I can have a look."

I looked; I'm not much of a mechanic, but it looked fairly bent about. It was probably technically drivable, but I didn't want it to break or explode once I got on the main road. I took the keys and pocketed them; I needed them to get into my apartment, among other things. Then I went back and picked up the pepper spray canisters, zipping them back into the case.

"Pretty ballsy, facing off those guys with a pry bar and pepper spray," Grue commented.

"Pretty stupid, you mean," Rachel broke in, from the back of her dog. "We gonna hang around here forever?"

"Mike's heading to the PRT building," Tattletale informed them. "We drop him off, we do the PRT one hell of a solid."

"Wait, so we're a taxi service now?" Regent exclaimed. "When did this happen?"

"Since now," Grue informed him. "Mike, you want a lift? Rachel, you good with giving him a lift?"

"I'll take a lift, if Rachel doesn't have a problem with it," I stated firmly, looking Rachel squarely in the eye.

Rachel gave me a very direct look. "If you can stay on, you can have a lift."

* * *

Grue had to give me a bit of a boost-up, but once I was on the thing – I figured it was Angelica, given the missing ear and eye – I was actually fairly good. Yes, I was a security guard, and before that a taxi driver, but I'd actually grown up on a cattle property, and so I'd been on horseback many times. To belabour a cliché, it was like riding a bicycle; one never quite forgot the reflexes. There were, of course, no reins or stirrups, but enough bone spurs that I could hang on to them and kid myself that I was secure.

Rachel gave me a critical look once I was seated, then clicked a couple of times with her tongue. The dogs stretched out into a gallop; I was initially apprehensive, but then I came to the realisation that they didn't jolt anywhere near as much as a galloping horse; it was just a case of going with the motion.

We pounded down the middle of the street, cars wisely pulling over to avoid us. Rachel was ahead of me on Brutus, with Regent riding pillion. Behind me was Grue on Judas, with Tattletale on behind him. I mused that it was probably wise to put me on a dog alone; I very likely outweighed any two of the Undersiders together. I was certainly _older_ than any two of them together.

As we got closer to the city centre, Rachel took to the pavement and brought the dogs to a fast trot. It was still much faster than I would have gotten along, had I been on foot.

Finally, she slowed to a stop. I looked ahead, and saw the PRT building, half a block ahead. "You walk from here," she called. "You say the PRT isn't going to try to arrest us, but they've been dicks in the past."

"Fair point," I acknowledged, sliding down off of Angelica, trying to make sure I didn't tear my pants on a bone spur in the process. "Thanks for the lift."

"You've ridden before," she commented.

"Horses," Tattletale told her.

I nodded to her. "And thanks again for the save."

"I wanted to hold back," Regent put in. "See how you went against them. I had ten bucks to say you would have creamed the lot of them."

"Yeah, see, that's why I'm glad you're not leading the Undersiders," I told him. "Take care, guys."

Without another word, Bitch turned the dogs and they loped away. I limped toward the PRT building; while I _had_ ridden before, it had been many years before. My hips just weren't up to it.

I was just glad that they hadn't taken me over the rooftops.

=/=/=

_Hookwolf pulled himself to his feet. Around him were multiple blast-marks, where explosions had gone off. Repeatedly. He knew this, because he'd been the focus of several of those explosions. It was only due to the fact that his vulnerable core was protected by a metallic shell that he had survived at all._

_He looked around; PRT troops surrounded him, weapons and foam sprayers at the ready._

"_Well, fuck," he growled. "You guys gonna take me in?"_

_An officer shook his head. "No. You were pulling out when you were attacked by Oni Lee, right?"_

"_Yeah." Hookwolf looked around. "Where'd he get to?"_

_The officer shrugged slightly. "After he blew you up for the last time, he looked around and vanished. We haven't seen him since."_

"_So … I get to walk?" Hookwolf frowned. "Just like that?"_

"_As per the truce, yes," the officer confirmed. "Until this gang war is done."_

_Hookwolf nodded. "Right. Be seeing you."_

_Turning, he moved toward the ring of PRT troopers. They parted, allowing him to walk out. Without a backward glance, he moved off down the street._

_The officer keyed his comm. "Squad three actual. Cape fight is done. Oni Lee has gone. Hookwolf is being allowed to leave, as per ongoing truce with Empire Eighty-Eight. Over."_

_An answer came back almost immediately. __**"Armsmaster. Fighting is done. We did good, people. Report position and gang casualties, over."**_

_The officer eyed the bodies strewn around. "All right, you heard the man. Start counting."_

_**It could have been a lot worse,**__ he knew. __**A whole lot worse.**_

=/=/=

**Boston**

"_I asked them nicely," murmured Theo. "All I wanted was to see you."_

_Aster gurgled in his arms; Theo smiled and held her bottle carefully._

"_I told them." He looked up, and into the policeman's eyes. "I did tell you, didn't I?"_

_The officer gritted his teeth. "You have no idea how much trouble you're in. Let me loose now, or -"_

_Theo shook his head. "Sorry. You might get up to mischief."_

_Getting up, he held Aster over his shoulder and patted her back. She let out an impressive burp, and he chuckled. Slowly, he walked back and forth with her, rocking her gently in his arms._

_She didn't take long to fall asleep._

=/=/=

**Brockton Bay**

"Well, holy crap," I observed. "You guys kicked ass out there. It's not even midday yet, and it's all over bar the shouting."

Despite wearing a full face mask, Taylor managed to look very pleased with herself; she nudged Amy with her elbow. "This one deserves most of the credit. Her relay bugs helped me keep track of everything that was going on."

"Which was extremely helpful," Armsmaster agreed. "Knowing what was going on, and where, made all the difference." He looked toward me. "She even located your stray Merchants. We picked them up about ten minutes ago."

"And my vehicle?" I asked.

He nodded. "We have a tow truck on the way now."

"Good," I replied. "Thanks, by the way." I looked around the table, and nodded to Legend. "And thanks again to you, for saving my butt from Kaiser."

"I should have known you'd get in trouble again," the hero replied with a grin. "But you seemed to come out of it all right."

"With a little help from my friends," I pointed out. "I did tell you guys that it was the Undersiders who saved my bacon there, right?"

Armsmaster nodded. "We'll take that into account. They make an annoyingly effective team. It would be useful if they could be annoyingly effective _for_ us, instead of _against_ us."

"Yeah, that it would." I paused, trying to place the woman sitting alongside Legend. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met?" I held out my hand. "Mike Allen. Sometimes known as Security."

She blinked in surprise. "Oh. Oh! I was wondering why your voice sounded familiar."

As did hers. I frowned, trying to recall. But my thoughts were still scattered from the car crash earlier – although Amy had examined me and declared that I had suffered no real injury – and so I couldn't place her. So I concentrated on her physical appearance.

Petite, mousy brown hair …

"Kayden Anders," she replied belatedly, taking my hand and shaking it briefly. "I am very pleased to meet you at last." She quirked a smile. "Although I must admit, you are not what I expected."

"Purity," I managed at last. "You came back to Brockton Bay? Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "My idiot ex-husband," she explained. "If this gang war had gone on much longer, they would've Birdcaged him for sure. I came back to try to talk sense into him. Only to find that someone else had already done so. So I joined forces with Legend, to help bring things to a halt."

"I see," I replied, although I wasn't really paying much attention. There was a TV on the sideboard, with the sound on mute, and it had been playing the highlights of the gang war for the last half hour or more. Now, it had changed to a different picture. One that had grabbed my attention.

"Uh, Kayden," I ventured. "Where exactly did you take Aster and Theo?"

She frowned. "Boston. Why?"

I took a deep breath. "Uh … when was the last time you actually spoke to Theo?"

She leaned forward and stared intently at me. "Why?"

"It … might be a good time to call, and see if he's okay."

Her brow furrowed, then she realised I wasn't looking exactly at her. She swivelled, and stared at the TV. Everyone else at the table did, too.

On the screen was a picture of what looked vaguely like a suburban house. Only vaguely, because of the large hand-shapes that cupped and encased it from all sides. A tag at the top left read "Boston".

"Just a hunch," I offered. "But I think he might be in trouble."

* * *

End of Chapter Thirty-Eight


	39. Chapter 39

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Arranging Matters

* * *

Kayden stared at me, and then at the screen. "Why do you say that?" she demanded in a sharp tone. "What's that got to do with Theo?"

I tried to think fast. This was potentially a very explosive situation, and I'd just put my foot in it. _Do **not** want to destabilise this any more._

"If I'm right," I told her carefully, "your stepson has just triggered. That's an outward manifestation of his power." I gestured at the screen. "I'm presuming that's not where you left him and Aster?"

She shook her head; she was starting to glow. I didn't have much time to get my point across.

"Okay, he's been taken," I explained rapidly. "He triggered. That looks defensive to me; he's hiding. Protecting Aster." _I hope._

"Taken?" she snarled. I couldn't look directly at her any more. "Who by?"

I shrugged. "Might be local criminals, but I doubt it. More likely the Boston PRT. Someone who has no idea who they're really dealing with."

"You got that right," she growled, heading for the door. "I'm going to go and -"

"Wait!" I called. "There's an easier way. No fighting. One hundred percent chance of getting your little girl back safe and sound."

That stopped her. She turned around. I was fairly certain she was looking at me, although her face was basically one big glare. "Tell. Me."

Shading my eyes, I gestured to Legend; he looked at me. "Do me a favour. Call Boston PRT. See if they've just had an op go totally tits-up. Tell them that they've got to give Theo and Aster back, right the fuck now, before the nice lady comes and disassembles their city down around their ears."

Legend had his phone out, and was already dialling. Purity waited, simmering.

"This is Legend," he stated. "I need to talk to the Director. Now."

A pause. He gave me a thumbs-up. Apparently, I had guessed correctly.

"Oh, I have no doubt he's up to his ass in alligators," he snapped. "I'm _calling_ about that. Get him on the phone. _Right. Now."_

It was interesting; normally, he was polite and charming, and everyone did what he wanted because he asked them to. When he decided to _use_ his personality, there was a definite snap of command in there. Whoever was on the other end obviously thought so too, because he didn't have to wait too long.

"This is _Legend,"_ he repeated. "Listen very carefully. You've abducted the children of Purity. This is a _very bad move._ She's about to go over there and perform all sorts of mayhem to get them back. I'm considering assisting her. Why? Because she's just helped us _end a gang war. _And because taking her kids is _against the unwritten rules."_

Another pause, while whoever was on the other end reacted to what he had just said.

"Now, listen very carefully. This is how it's going to be," Legend told him. "We're going to come to Boston. Purity is going to get her kids back. No-one is going to so much as point a _water pistol_ at her. She is going to walk away, free and clear. Is that perfectly understood?"

Apparently, it was. He listened for a bit, then interrupted. "Now, I'm – no, listen to me. I'm going to hand the phone to Purity. You're going to _apologise_ to her, and then you're going to tell her where her kids are being kept, and then we're going to come and get them. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Apparently the person on the other end did. Legend beckoned Purity over, and held the phone out. I still couldn't look directly at her, and I thought that pulling my sunglasses out might look a little rude, but he didn't seem to have much trouble in looking at her.

Super-powers are such bullshit, sometimes.

She took the phone and put it to her ear. "This is Purity."

The Director for PRT Boston … Wilkerson? I couldn't remember his name offhand. In any case, he seemed to have a knack for grovelling, because Purity's star-bright glow slowly faded. When she finally handed the phone back to Legend, she still looked pissed as hell, but she didn't look like she was going to go and murder someone.

She nodded to me, curtly. "You were right. Thank you."

I nodded back. "No problem. I haven't got any of my own, but if someone took my sister's kids, I'd be looking for them, and not to slap them on the wrist either. Kids are _sacred."_

She smiled, very slightly. "You do understand." Taking a deep breath, she turned to Legend. "You're coming with me?"

Legend nodded. "If only to prevent some trigger-happy idiot from making this day even worse for Boston." Ever courteous, he held the door open for Purity; it closed behind the both of them.

=/=

I exhaled a long breath as I slumped back in my chair.

"Well, _that_ was nerve-wracking," I observed out loud.

Armsmaster was staring from me to the TV and back again. "Am I to understand that Purity's son -"

"Stepson," I corrected him, "for what it matters."

"Stepson, then," he agreed. "You're saying that he triggered. You've given us to believe that the majority of your specialist knowledge is no longer valid, now that events have been changed. How was it that you knew this was Theo Anders?"

I tilted my head. "I didn't, not for certain," I admitted. "But it was a good ninety-plus percent chance that it was him." I waved my hand at the screen. "His trigger event allows him to push his hand into a material, and push the shape of his hand out of the same material elsewhere, at a place, and size, of his choosing. It's the way he was going to trigger, a couple months time, after his father gets killed fighting Leviathan." I smiled faintly. "Looks like the Boston PRT saved him some time."

"Wow," Taylor observed. "That's certainly a _public_ trigger event. What's going to happen to him now?"

I scratched my beard. "Not entirely sure. I do not have that information."

Amy looked thoughtful. "What _would_ have happened to him?" she asked.

I nodded, and pointed my finger at her. "Good question."

She smiled; Taylor gave her a shoulder nudge and a grin while I went on. "He _would_ have been facing a fairly horrible problem. In that version of events, Jack Slash is still alive, and gives him an ultimatum; as the son and grandson of capes, he was very likely to trigger with powers, as we've just seen. He gets told that he has two years to manifest powers and prepare, because Jack Slash will be coming back, and if Theo didn't kill _him_, Jack Slash would kill one thousand people, starting with Kayden and Aster."

"Of course, that's not going to happen now, because Jack Slash is dead," Armsmaster pointed out pragmatically. "But he seems to be a powerful enough cape. The Wards could use someone like that … if he wasn't part of Empire Eighty-Eight."

I raised my hand slightly. "He does _not_ believe in his father's ideals," I pointed out. "Kaiser thinks him weak, unfit. And to be honest, he's a bit on the chubby side, and Kaiser's done a lot to wear down his self-assurance. He's very … passive. You could very likely persuade him to join the Wards. It would probably do him a lot of good." I glanced at Taylor. "You have a knack of figuring out tricks from peoples' powers, not just your own. He could do worse than have you as a coach." _Especially given that you and he have a lot in common,_ I didn't add. She'd figure that out herself, pretty quickly.

"I … I'm not sure about that," she hedged, her voice uncertain. "I've only been doing this myself for a week, you know."

I nodded. "Yeah, sorry, I keep forgetting the difference between what I remember and what's in front of me. You're more driven than Theo is. Let's say, as opposed to teaching him, you help him along. Give him a hand to get used to using his powers efficiently and effectively."

I was annoyed with myself; the Taylor who had trained Golem to become a stalwart, steadfast hero was not the Taylor before me; _that_ Taylor had battled Leviathan, Echidna, the Nine and Dragon, had killed Coil and Alexandria and Tagg. Following that, she had helped kill _Behemoth._ She'd been a lot tougher, a lot more hard-bitten. Used to more responsibility. She had allied with the Undersiders, and much more personally with Grue, and then had walked away from both when she had needed to cut ties. And it was only after she had all that under her belt had she taken on the task of training Theo to fight Jack Slash.

I had no right to ask _this_ Taylor to face up to such daunting responsibilities, this early in her career. She had no idea what she was truly capable of; I didn't want to think about the trials she would have to endure to achieve her full levels of competence.

She was looking directly at me; I could barely see her eyes past the yellow-tinted lenses.

"He'll need the assistance?" she asked quietly.

I nodded. "He'll need someone to help him along. Show him the ropes. Kick his ass when he needs it." I pointed at her. _"You're_ gonna have to learn to be tough, just to make sure you can toughen _him_ up. I don't know anyone who can do it better." I tilted my head. "Though I do know someone who can help the both of you."

"If you think I can do it," she stated resolutely, "I'll do it."

I smiled, got up, and walked around to where she sat. Holding out my hand, I offered her a fist-bump. She returned it firmly.

"So, how'd you two go in general?" I asked, nodding to her and Amy.

They filled me in, with Taylor manipulating bugs on the table, to show me how they'd kept people apprised of gang movements. It impressed me, and I told them so.

"But you knew I could do it," Taylor pointed out. "You said that, several times."

"There's knowing, and then there's seeing," I replied. "And I can know it's possible, and still be very impressed when I see it."

"I was also very impressed," Armsmaster noted. We looked at him. "It's the truth. Weaver, you did a fine job of command and control out there. You didn't get flustered, and you kept us all in the loop. Not to mention, real-time assistance from your bugs."

"Which reminds me," Taylor commented. A bug crawled out from under her hair and down her arm. "Amy made this for me."

I stared at it. "I'm sorry, but I have to say this. That's got to be the most awkward looking bug I have ever seen. Anywhere. Amy, did you make this bug so that other bugs could laugh at it?"

Taylor chuckled. "I _said_ it looked weird."

Amy snorted and rolled her eyes. "Show him what it can do."

And then the bug spoke to me. It looked right at me – or at least, I assumed that it was looking at me – and vocalised, _"Now you've hurt my feelings. I'm going to sulk."_

I blinked, startled. Armsmaster's jaw dropped.

"Holy shit," I muttered. "You made a talking bug. A bug that _really talks."_ I offered my fist to Amy; flushing pink with pride, she bumped it.

Taylor nodded. "Yeah. Isn't it great? This plus a spy bug equals real-time communication with anyone, within three or four blocks. Or farther, with relay bugs."

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "Forgive me for being a little dense," he observed, "but I believe that we have this thing called 'radio' that does much the same thing, over a much wider range."

I grinned. "You want to tell him, or can I?"

Taylor sounded faintly startled, then she caught herself. "How did you – well, of _course_ you know. Sure, go ahead."

I nodded to her, then addressed Armsmaster as I pointed to the bug. "She can use that to carry on _different _conversations, simultaneously, with each and every person that she's got bugs on. Fifty pairs of bugs on fifty different people? Fifty different conversations. At the same time. While chatting to Amy, about a different topic altogether."

Armsmaster stared at the bug, then at Taylor. "Is this true?"

She shrugged. "It might take a little getting used to," she noted. "But I'm willing to give it a shot."

"I – that sounds very useful," he allowed, in a masterpiece of understatement. "Very useful indeed."

_I just **bet** it does, _I thought. _Now you know part of the reason I'm helping Taylor._ The other part being, of course, that I liked her and she needed help.

Amy pointed at the screen. "Isn't that them now?" she asked.

The picture, obviously from a news chopper, wavered as the aircraft moved around to get a fresh viewpoint. But sure enough, a red streak of light alongside a sun-bright yellow one had just entered the frame.

I went back to my seat and sat down to watch the show.

=/=

_Legend banked around, followed by Purity, as they descended toward the ground. She was grudgingly impressed; she had put on the very best pace she could, to get back to Boston as fast as possible, and he had matched her with ease._

_It wasn't that she was ignorant of his capabilities; she had read up on him and the rest of the Triumvirate, just to know how to react if she ever faced them. The best answer she'd been able to come up with was 'run like hell'. And against Legend, even that wasn't a workable solution._

_But there was knowing their capabilities, and then there was seeing them in action._

"_Let me do the talking, okay?" he suggested as they came in for a landing._

_She gave him a curt nod, and turned to look at the building itself._

_Surrounded by PRT, who were backed up by some of the local capes, it looked even stranger than it had on the live TV feed. Gigantic hands, that appeared to be composed of concrete, were cupped around the building, interlocking to form a defensive barricade._

**Theo**_** did this?** she wondered.** I really don't know him.**_

_She became aware of the stares of the capes; some of the PRT troops were also looking in her direction, although she could not see their eyes through their helmet visors. Ignoring them, she looked back at what had probably been an unremarkable suburban house, just hours before._

"_Okay, we're clear," Legend reported, moving to her side. "They aren't going to get in our way. How do you think we should do this?"_

_Kayden eyed the house one more time. "Somehow, I had envisaged blasting my way through the PRT, not through a wall put up by my own stepson," she commented. "Do they have some way for us to communicate?"_

"_They've got a loudspeaker," he replied. "Or the landline, but he hasn't been picking up."_

"_Hm," she mused. "Where's the loudspeaker?"_

_He pointed at a PRT officer; she strode over to the man, and plucked the oversized bullhorn from his hand. Pointing the bell-mouth at the blocky conglomeration of concrete hands, she held the microphone to her mouth and pressed the button._

"_**THEO!"** she called. **"THIS IS KAYDEN! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"**_

_There was a moment of silence, then a grinding noise sounded; out of the side of one of the hands, another hand extruded, fully four feet from side to side. Before it solidified into immobility, it formed a thumbs-up gesture._

_Legend had to smile. "I think that's a yes," he commented cheerfully._

_She ignored his levity. **"GOOD," **she called. **"I'M COMING IN TO GET YOU OUT OF THERE. IS THERE A CLEAR SPACE WE CAN CUT THROUGH?"**_

_Another pause, then two hands extruded from the side wall, not ten feet from where several PRT troopers crouched. The hands formed a bracketing motion, before also becoming immobile._

"_Looks good to me," Legend commented. "Shall we?"_

_Purity tossed the bullhorn back to the officer, not bothering to thank him. She moved forward to stand between the giant hands, then looked at the wall of concrete. This close, she could see the pores in the skin, even the tiny folds, moulded in intricate detail, albeit on a massive scale._

"_What's the matter?" asked Legend, from beside her._

"_My power's more about blasting than cutting," she confessed. "I don't know how thick this is. My baby's in there."_

_He nodded. "If you want, I can help."_

_She looked up at him. Tall and strong and handsome, so sure in his power, he was the antithesis of Max. Two men so similar, and yet so different. Kaiser was arrogant; Legend **cared.**_

_She took a deep breath. "I … yes, please."_

_He started small; a pencil-thin laser traced out a rectangle the size of a doorway. He did something with the laser, and twelve inches of concrete … vanished. Dust washed over them, and he did it again, and again. Step by step, they advanced along the growing corridor._

=/=

_The interior of the building was dimly lit; they'd turned off the power a little while ago. The only illumination Theo had was what light managed to filter in through the cracks between his giant concrete hands, and the flashlights he had liberated from the police officers._

_He had checked on the officers occasionally, to make sure they weren't in too much discomfort, but he'd had no idea how he was going to maintain this situation. He wasn't equipped to keep half a dozen cops under control for more than a few hours; they'd need food and water. They'd need the **bathroom.**_

_Eventually, when they wouldn't stop trying to talk to him, he'd walled off the room where he was keeping them. If Kayden wasn't back by sundown, he figured, he'd surrender to the police outside. He had no idea how he was going to flee with Aster, and he didn't want the lives of the officers on his hands._

_**I've screwed this all up.**_

_But then he heard the bullhorn from outside. It was with immense relief that he showed Kayden where to blast her way in, well away from everyone in the building._

_**She's back, thank god.** He looked down at Aster, sleeping peacefully in her carrier. "Mommy's back," he murmured._

=/=

_The laser light took him somewhat by surprise, as the section of wall collapsed to form a doorway. He looked up, eyes wide in alarm._

_**Oh crap. Kayden can't do lasers.**_

_He poised his hand, ready to drive it into a wall and send up a barrier to block the invaders off, but then Kayden stepped out of the cloud of dust. Behind her -_

"_Watch out!" he called. "It's Legend!"_

_She ran to him, to Aster. "It's all right," she told him, even as she scooped her child from the carrier. "We're all right now." She looked Aster over, holding the baby close, inhaling her fresh scent._

_Theo looked from Purity to Legend. "What's going on here?" he asked. "The cops busted into the motel room, handcuffed me, put me in a cell. Told me I was in 'protective custody'."_

_Legend nodded. "They made a mistake. We're correcting it. Your stepmother wants to work with the Protectorate." He put a hand on Theo's shoulder, squeezed it. "You did a fine job, protecting your sister."_

_Theo shrugged, looking around. "I don't know that I did a really good job," he mumbled. "I tried. But I didn't know what to **do.**"_

"_What about the other officers that were in here?" Legend wanted to know._

"_I didn't hurt them," Theo hastened to assure him. "But they kept on **talking,** and I didn't want Aster to wake up, so I blocked off the door so I couldn't hear them."_

=/=

_Legend went to investigate; the doorway was well and truly blocked off. A brief application of his power, and this was no longer the case._

_Beyond, half a dozen police officers turned their heads to stare at him. All of them were imprisoned in various postures; all of them were being held by large concrete hands._

"_Is anyone hurt?" asked Legend; this seemed to break the spell._

"_Oh, thank God," blurted the closest officer, a burly man with a moustache. "You're here. We're safe."_

_Legend raised an eyebrow. "Is anyone not here? Is everyone alive?" he asked. "And once more, is anyone hurt?"_

_They all began to talk at once, but a policewoman overrode them. "No, we're all here. No-one's hurt," she told him. "Why haven't you let us go yet?"_

"_Because you need to listen to me," Legend told her firmly. "All of you. I don't want you doing anything stupid when I let you go. Purity is here. We're taking the children back to Brockton Bay. You don't try to arrest the boy, or his stepmother. In fact, you stand down altogether. Is that entirely understood?"_

_Five of the six nodded; his lasers carved the concrete hands apart, and they fell to the ground, groaning as they tried to move cramped limbs. Legend looked at the last one, the man with the moustache. "You did understand what I said, right?"_

"_What the fuck?" the officer snapped. "The kid went nuts and attacked us. He belongs in a cell."_

"_One more time," Legend stated patiently. "This is a matter for the PRT and the Protectorate. It's out of your hands. Do you understand?"_

_Reluctantly, the man nodded. "Yeah, I got it. You can let me go now."_

"_Thank you." Legend sliced apart the concrete hand that was imprisoning the officer. He turned to go, but was stopped by a yell._

"_Hey! What are you gonna do about that kid? He's **dangerous!**"_

_He turned back to look at the officer, who was even now forcing himself to stand. "He's coming back to Brockton Bay with me. As of right now, he's no longer your problem."_

"_What about this house?" demanded the officer, waving around at the somewhat worse for wear building. "He wrecked it! He's responsible for it!"_

_Legend shook his head. "Your treatment caused him to trigger, to manifest powers. That's a very emotional time for any cape. You should count your lucky stars that he's essentially a decent young man, or this could have ended very differently." He turned and left the room._

=/=

_Aster woke up when Purity picked her up, but she didn't start crying. Stretching out her little hands, she took hold of Kayden's hair and grasped it. Kayden smiled, holding her baby close, joy welling in her heart. She looked at Theo, standing there awkwardly._

"_You triggered to protect Aster?" It wasn't really a question._

_Theo shrugged. "She was crying and they wouldn't let me go to her, and I didn't know where you were, and I'd promised that I'd take care of her …"_

"_You did well, Theo," she told him softly. "You did really well."_

"_What's going to happen now?" he asked. "There's a lot of police out there, and the ones in here are really not happy with me."_

"_You're coming back to Brockton Bay with me," she told him firmly._

_Legend came out of the other room, and approached them. "Ready to go?" he asked._

_Purity nodded, not willing to relinquish her hold on Aster. Theo picked up the carrier._

"_Baby food?" asked Legend._

"_They had a bit," Theo noted. "I fed her a little while ago."_

"_We can get more," the hero decided. "Come on, let's get you out of here."_

=/=

We all sat up slightly when they emerged from the doorway that had been cut into the side of the building; first Legend, waving to everyone to put their weapons down, then Purity, holding her baby protectively, then Theo, blinking and shading his eyes from the sun, all the while holding a baby carrier.

We could not hear what Legend was saying, but the PRT backed off a little. Those capes in sight looked a little disappointed, or a little relieved, or a bit of both; Purity's reputation had spread a little from Brockton Bay.

I turned to Armsmaster. "What's going to happen to them? I mean, legally speaking."

He considered the question. "Theo's a cape, so that changes matters a little. Purity has a long rap sheet from working with the Empire, but she's shown a sincere desire to change her ways, and a powerful cape on the side of good is always welcome."

"What, that _happens?_" asked Amy, looking a little taken aback.

"More often than you'd think," I assured her. I nodded toward Taylor meaningfully; after a moment, Amy got it, recalling what I had told her of the other version of Taylor and her career as a warlord of Brockton Bay.

"Oh," she murmured. "Oh, right."

"Yup," I agreed, then turned back to Armsmaster. "And Theo? What sort of backlash can he expect from this little kerfuffle?"

His expression, what I could see of it, was thoughtful. "He's not wanted for any crimes, or at least he _wasn't_. There are extenuating circumstances in cape law for things that happen when you first trigger."

"Which become even more extenuating if the young cape in question then agrees to join the Wards," I guessed.

"That does serve to sweep a lot of problems under the rug, yes," he agreed blandly.

"He'll be a probationary Ward, of course," I observed. But that won't be a problem. The kid's got a good heart; he should go far."

Armsmaster turned to look at me directly. "You know this for certain?"

I looked back at him. "If things were different, in another two years, he'd be going toe to toe with Jack Slash. He wouldn't _beat_ him, but he'd make it possible for him to be defeated." I nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure of it."

"Two years … " murmured Taylor.

I grinned at her. "Two years of you kicking his arse on the training mat. You won't quite have that urgency, this time around, but it's a good idea for you to both be at your best capability anyway. Because there _is_ something big coming, and I'd far rather you were over-prepared than under."

Amy looked at me apprehensively. "Something big?"

I shrugged. "Sort of why I'm here. Why I'm telling you this. Why I'm helping you all. You'd get through it, but a lot of people would get hurt, and people would die. I'd rather they didn't. So, yeah. A helping hand."

Armsmaster looked from me to Amy and Taylor, and back again. "Are you sure you should be talking about this?" _In front of them,_ he meant.

I nodded. "They've got a stake in it too." I looked at the girls. "I'll tell you more, when it's time. For now … yeah, things might be starting to look better, but we're not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot."

I tried to put an encouraging grin on my face. "But we _do_ have a path of sorts to follow, and I'm getting people ready earlier than they would have normally, with the right sort of weapons. So, with any kind of luck, by the time the big bad wolf jumps out at us, he's going to get one hell of a shock."

Amy gave me an odd look. "Why are you using fairy-tale metaphor?"

"Because I don't want to give you something _else_ to worry about, right now," I told her honestly. "Just that … preparations _are_ being made, and you personally would not be able to make a difference, even if you knew."

I looked her in the eyes. "I'm not going to say there's _no_ danger, but we do know what the problem is, and we're working to forestall it. If and when you're needed, I'll tell you what the situation is, but until then, just please accept that we're doing everything that needs to be done. Okay?"

There was a long silence, then Taylor got up out of her seat. She rounded the table, stopped by my chair, and hugged me. I put my arms around her, and hugged her back.

"I trust you," she told me firmly. "I trust you to get it right."

By the time she let me go and went back to her seat, I had tears in my eyes.

_Oh god, please let me get it right._

=/=

_The helicopter dropped them off on the landing pad atop the PRT building. Immediately they were clear of the rotor-wash, it lifted off again and turned south, heading back to Boston._

_Kayden turned to Legend. "That was easier than I thought it would be," she commented._

_He smiled back at her. "Obstacles kind of get out of the way when you're a member of the Triumvirate."_

"_So I see." She looked over at where Aster slept in her carrier, held by Theo. "I still have no idea how you managed to make it so the helicopter noise didn't bother her."_

_He grinned; for a moment, it made him look very young. "My lasers can do some pretty amazing effects. Damping sound and vibration so a baby could sleep through a helicopter ride was a first, I have to admit."_

"_I still say that lasers should not be able to do that," Theo reiterated; it had been a point of friendly banter throughout the flight._

_Legend shrugged. "Mine can." Which was undeniably true. "Shall we get inside? The Director awaits."_

=/=

"I think you should come to New York."

We sat around a conference table. There were five of us; Director Piggot, Armsmaster, Legend, Kayden, and myself. Kayden had raised an eyebrow, but had not commented, when Legend had invited me to sit in; Piggot had not objected. I supposed that I was there as a kind of unofficial observer.

I had introduced Theo, and Aster, to Taylor and Amy. For obvious reasons, I had not mentioned to Theo that Taylor would be helping to train him; I had left it up to her whether or not to unmask to him. Amy was immediately taken by Aster; I guessed that she rarely had a chance to associate with babies in a social setting, rather than a hospital situation. When I left them, they seemed to be getting along well.

Kayden looked over at Legend, who had made the comment. "What?" she asked. "Why New York?"

"It has the advantage of not being Brockton Bay," Armsmaster observed. "You're too well-known here. And you'd be away from any pressure Kaiser might wish to bring to bear upon you."

She frowned. "I hate to admit it, but you have a point." She looked at the armoured hero. "Where were you thinking of putting Theo into the Wards?"

"Here," Armsmaster stated at once. "New York's already got enough. And Weaver's offered to assist in his training."

Kayden blinked at that. "What does she know about training capes? She's only new herself, isn't she?"

I cleared my throat. "She has a knack of helping people get the very best out of their capabilities," I explained. "And she's got the drive to keep him going when he wants to give up. Where his father wore him down, she'll build him up." I shrugged. "The army calls it 'battle buddies'. I don't know if you have the same thing in the Wards."

"I've seen it now and again," Armsmaster replied, even as Piggot nodded in agreement. "It's not a bad plan."

Purity frowned. "But if I'm in New York, with Aster -" There was not even the slightest hint of doubt in her voice that this would be the case. " - who'll babysit her when I'm busy? Taking care of a baby is a full-time job." _And I don't trust the PRT with my child,_ she didn't quite add.

"I think I can help there," Legend suggested diffidently.

Kayden looked over at him, as did Armsmaster and Piggot. I realised where he was going with this, and grinned.

"How can _you_ help?" asked Kayden. "You'll be busier than I ever will."

Legend shrugged. "My husband can help babysit."

She stared. "Would he even want to?"

"I don't see why not. We both love children, and we're already in the process of adopting one of our own. We've got everything a baby needs. I'm sure we can take on another child with relative ease. Especially if you're willing to return the favour occasionally."

There was silence in the room, then Kayden got up. "Can we have a private word?" she asked Legend. "Just for a moment?"

He stood up promptly. "Certainly," he agreed. He gestured through the adjoining door, into the small kitchenette. They entered, and he shut the door.

Piggot looked at Armsmaster. "What's going on?" she asked.

He shrugged, and they both looked at me. I looked back at them. "What?" I asked.

"You're the one who usually knows this sort of thing," Armsmaster told me bluntly.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, okay. Yeah, I can make a good guess as to what's being said in there. But it's between those two, so what say we leave it private?"

The silence stretched out, and then they reluctantly nodded. "Fine," Armsmaster agreed, with ill grace. Piggot nodded as well. I got up and went into the room down the hall to see how the kids were getting along; when I got there, Taylor had her mask off. Amy was entertaining her and Theo with an unlikely story that seemed to involve Glory Girl, a mud manipulator and lots of laughter. They looked up; I nodded, gave them a wave, and headed back into the conference room.

=/=

_Legend shut the door, then sent a gridwork of laser-lines crawling over the wood; the ambient sound dropped dramatically. He turned to Purity and nodded. "We're private. What's the matter?"_

_She was staring at him, as if trying to ascertain who or what he really was. "You're gay," she stated flatly._

"_Uh, yes," he agreed. "That's been publicly known for years." It had, he knew, altered the public perception of homosexuality, ever since he had announced it on live TV. Sometimes, he was proud of the fact that he had personally had so much to do with the acceptance of gays into the community, and sometimes he was ashamed that it had taken his announcement to cause the change in attitude. As if one superhero being gay made it all right._

"_And you're married," she went on, in the same flat tone._

_He nodded again. "Six years so far, and going strong."_

_She seemed to be working something out in her head. "And you're adopting children."_

"_Just one, at the moment," Legend corrected her gently. "A wonderful little boy called Keith."_

_She shook her head slowly. "What does a gay couple know about raising children?"_

_He had to chuckle. "What does **any** couple know about raising children, the first time around?" he asked rhetorically. "It's not like we're born with the knowledge complete in our heads. We learn, and we make mistakes, and we get past them. We've got all the baby books. We're both looking forward to it." He raised an eyebrow. "But to be honest, if you've got any hints or tips, I would certainly appreciate the assistance."_

_She was staring at him again. "You're serious," she muttered, more to herself than to him. Then she frowned. "I suppose you'll be raising him to be gay."_

_Again, he had to chuckle. "No. We'll be raising him to be **himself**. Your prejudices are showing, Kayden. If he's going to be straight, no amount of exposure to gay parents will make him gay. If he's going to be gay, no amount of exposure to heterosexual parents will make him straight. Whatever he turns out to be, whatever he chooses to express himself as, we'll be there to encourage and support him. Because that's what parents **do**."_

=/=

_The conviction in his tone shook her. She had been equally firm in her beliefs, right up until he had gently pointed out the fallacy in them. "I … I guess so," she admitted._

_He smiled at her. "I know so," he assured her. "And in any case, it's not like you've got much to worry about. If we babysit Aster, what bad habits is she going to pick up from a couple of gay men? A great fashion sense? The ability to choose a sensitive boyfriend?"_

_It was her turn to chuckle. The image that he presented was amusing, and contained more than a grain of truth. She had to admit, she could think of worse surrogate parents than Legend._

_**Do I trust him to care for my daughter as well as I would?**_

_She thought about that, while Legend watched her, his expression patient._

_**Yes, I do.**_

_She took a deep breath. "Okay," she agreed. "We can give it a try. I'll have to meet him, of course."_

"_Of course," he responded. "I think you two will get along just fine."_

_She smiled at him. "Thank you," she told him softly. "Thank you for everything."_

"_You're the one who came forward," he reminded her. He put his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes. "I didn't save you. You saved yourself."_

_Quite to her surprise, she found herself hugging him. His arms were strong about her, holding her close. She savoured the human contact, the warmth, the support. **I have been without this for far too long.**_

_By mutual consent, they drew apart. "Some of that dust must have gotten in my eyes," she groused, dabbing at the tears on her cheeks._

"_It must have," he agreed solemnly, handing her a paper towel. Neither of them mentioned that they had both brushed the dust off long since._

_She wiped the tears away, blew her nose, then ran her hands down her blouse. "So, you're willing to help babysit Aster while I'm busy?" she asked._

_He nodded. "I'll have to talk to my husband, of course, but I can't see a problem." He shrugged. "And Theo can visit on the weekends."_

"_I think I'd like that," she replied. She gestured to the door. "Shall we?"_

_He nodded. The laser grid vanished, and sound entered the room once more. Kayden opened the door._

=/=

"So when Kayden's duties don't necessitate her being at the Protectorate headquarters, she's welcome to stay in our spare room," Legend concluded. "I've been on to my husband, and he's delighted with the idea."

"And Theo will be living here in the building for the most part, and visiting New York on the weekend," Armsmaster added.

"When he can be spared," Director Piggot noted.

"Of course," Kayden agreed. "His duties and training come first."

"The Wards here are a pretty good bunch," I observed. "He should get along well with them. With him and Weaver, you've got a couple of very good prospects to go on with. Along with the other one, of course."

"'Other' one?" asked Kayden.

The other three capes stared at me, then Legend got it. "Ah, of course. We were talking about transferring Flechette from New York."

Kayden frowned. "Is that really necessary now? You're getting two new Wards as it is."

Piggot coughed. "Well, we did lose Shadow Stalker recently. So we were down to six, with the recent recruitment of Browbeat. In a city as full of criminal capes as Brockton Bay is, I'd rather have more than less. Nine is a number I'm much more comfortable with, especially given that two of them are very new to the game, and one is relatively new."

"How new is Weaver?" asked Kayden. "From what I hear, she's been doing very well indeed."

"She went out for the first time, eight days ago," I informed her.

She blinked. "Okay," she replied. "I am impressed."

"And took down Lung," I added cheerfully.

She stared at me for a moment. _"Very _impressed," she corrected herself. "I'd heard something about that, but you know how rumours spread in this town."

"What Mr Allen is refraining from mentioning," Director Piggot informed her dryly, "is that he was there at the time, assisting."

"Advisory role only," I pointed out, raising my hands. "She did all the ass-kicking, I did the running away."

Kayden shook her head slowly, in disbelief. "And you have no powers?"

"Thinker zero, effective," the Director advised her. "Because he knows things he has no business knowing."

"So I see," she murmured. "So I see." She smiled at me. "Well, I appreciate your help in this. Even though Aster was abducted anyway."

I shrugged. "A lot of people would've been hurt and killed, the other way," I pointed out. "Which would have made this, here, a whole lot harder." I considered reminding her that I had told her to not let Aster out of her sight, but decided not to belabour the point too much farther.

"I guess this is true," she agreed. "Thank you. For helping me and Aster. And for making it possible for me to have this chance to make good."

I smiled back at her. "Best way to thank me is to make it work."

She gave me a firm nod. "I'll do my very best."

=/=

"So wait," Theo wanted to know, "you're going to New York and leaving me in Brockton Bay?"

Kayden nodded. "I've got to do quite a bit to make up for what I did while I was working with Max," she explained. "Legend wants me out of Brockton Bay, and I agree with his reasoning. You can visit on the weekends; in the meantime, you'll be living here, in the base." As she spoke, she gently rocked Aster in her arms.

"Me and Amy will take you out sometime, if you want," Taylor added. "I'm sure Dad would like to meet you."

Theo looked from one to the other. "I … yeah, I think I'd like that," he agreed. He turned to Kayden. "But I'll see you on the weekends, right?"

She smiled. "Even if I have to fly up and pick you up myself," she promised.

"Subject to his duties and your own, of course," Director Piggot reminded her firmly.

Kayden nodded to her. "Of course," she agreed.

"Is that okay with you, Theo?" asked Legend.

Theo looked at him, then at Kayden, and Taylor and Amy, looking back at him expectantly. Then, finally, oddly, he looked at me.

"You're the one they call Security."

I nodded. "Yeah, Theo, that's me."

"Legend says you know a lot of stuff."

I nodded again. "That's what I'm told."

"And you think that this is the right thing to do?"

"It's _a_ right thing to do," I corrected him. _"The_ right thing? I don't know. But it would do you a lot of good. Personally? I think you should do it. But it's your choice."

He nodded slowly. "Thanks." He turned back to Legend. "Yeah. It's okay with me."

Legend smiled. "For what it's worth, son, I think you're doing the right thing too."

Theo beamed, then turned to Kayden. "Kayden, you're the closest thing I've got to a mom right now. Is it okay if I join the Wards?"

I could have sworn that her eyes got just a little misty, about then. "Yes, Theo. It's definitely okay."

Taylor high-fived Theo; Amy hugged him.

Director Piggot ignored them both. "Well, then," she declared. "That's settled. Thank you, Legend, Purity. Armsmaster, I'll leave you to sort out the appropriate paperwork. Welcome to the Wards, Theo." She rose stiffly from her chair. "If anyone wants me, I'll be in my office, seeing what's come up in my absence."

I got up and headed for the door. "A word before you go, Director?"

She inclined her head curiously, but allowed me to hold the door for her. Once we were outside, she looked at me. "Yes, Mr Allen?"

I took a deep breath. "You know how I'm having Mrs Yamada treat Amy and Eidolon?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I knew about Ms Dallon, but not Eidolon. But go on."

"And you know how I'd like to get treatment for Riley as well?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do. Please get to the point soon."

I hesitated. "I – would it be pushing it to get Theo into therapy as well?"

She frowned. "Yes, it would. Do you think it's necessary?"

I decided to go with total honesty. "Absolutely necessary? No. A very good idea? Yes. The kid's spent years of his life being mentally hammered flat by Kaiser. You saw him; he's got virtually no personality of his own. If he's going to end up as a really effective Ward, I think he needs help for that. And I think Jessica Yamada is his best bet there."

An exasperated look crossed her face. "Mr Allen, I would like every single cape in the building, and in the Protectorate headquarters, to undergo intense therapy. They're _all_ damaged. But we can't _afford_ it."

She paused to catch her breath. "The PRT is picking up the tab for Panacea, because your name came up, and I trust your judgement. If you consider that Bonesaw can benefit from treatment, then I won't stand in your way. I'm astonished and perturbed that you've managed to convince a member of the Triumvirate to undergo therapy, but that's outside my pay grade. But you _can't _just call on us to pay for each and every new cape to be treated, no matter how much you think they need it."

I nodded. "Okay, I do understand. I was just trying to point out that the son of a supervillain, and the victim of years of mental abuse, _might_ be considered a special case, in this situation. Given that he's going to be in the Wards, and all that."

She blinked, then shook her head slightly. "Mr Allen, your argument is well made. I concede the point. When and if young Anders wants therapy, he will get it. Now _kindly_ get out of my sight before you decide to bankrupt the entire PRT around me."

"Thank you, Director," I responded gravely. I turned back to the door, but stopped when she spoke again.

"Mr Allen."

"Yes, Director?" I asked.

"Thank you for your assistance today."

"You're very welcome, Director."

She grunted and limped away along the corridor. I went back into the conference room.

=/=

We stood on the roof of the building, with the midday sun glaring down on us. Legend held the baby carrier as Kayden hugged Theo. He hugged her back; he was actually a little taller than her, I saw.

"You take care, Theo," she told him. "I know you've got powers, but you can still get hurt."

"You take care too, Kayden," he responded. "I'll be visiting you every chance I get."

Taylor, her mask back on, stood at my shoulder. Amy stood beside her. When Theo let Kayden go, I stepped forward and offered my hand. She shook it firmly. "I'll keep an eye on him," I assured her. "Make sure these two ratbags don't get him in too much trouble."

She smiled faintly. "He's always needed friends of his own age. I hate to leave him, but … "

I nodded. "Yeah. Well, good luck as a hero."

She nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Turning, she went back to where Legend stood. The Triumvirate hero nodded to me; I nodded back. We understood each other.

Softly glowing laser light wove a cocoon around the baby carrier; Purity began to glow, more and more brightly. They lifted off of the rooftop, turned south, and accelerated. Moments later, they were out of sight.

I turned back to the three teenagers. "Right, then. Your paperwork's done?"

Taylor and Theo both nodded. Amy looked smug; she hadn't had to fill in any paperwork at all.

"They're arranging a costume for me," Theo responded, "and I still have to pick out a name. But all that starts tomorrow. What happens right now?"

"Well, I can give you the dollar tour of the building, at least the non-secure areas," I suggested. "Taylor, Amy, want to come with?"

Taylor shook her head. "Me and Amy probably have to get back to school sometime," she grumped. "I could probably get away with skipping classes from Winslow, but not from Arcadia."

I chuckled. "There's irony for you. I guess there's a downside to going to an awesome school."

Despite the fact that she was wearing a full-face mask, I was fairly sure that she gave me a very dirty look.

"Yeah, I still have to get placed in a school," Theo responded. "It sucks being home schooled."

"Enjoy your last few days of freedom," I told him. "Want that tour?"

"Sure," he agreed. "I don't want to spend my first few days getting lost."

"Good thinking," I replied approvingly, then looked at Taylor and Amy. "How are you two getting back?"

Amy spoke up. "We'll catch a lift with some of the other Wards. They've been getting debriefed about what they saw and did, and they'll be filtering back in ones and twos, to make sure no-one sees one big group coming back all at once."

I nodded, impressed. "You've got this all worked out."

She grinned. "They've had years to get it right."

=/=

We rode the lift down, all the way to the second sub-basement, where the Wards' base was. Amy and I only had Visitor tags, but both Taylor and Theo were officially Wards; _they_ were _our _escorts. Amy thought that this was hilarious, especially given the fact that she'd been down here quite a few times before.

We trod along the stainless-steel corridor, and Taylor leaned down to the retinal scanner. It took a moment to get a read on her eye through the lens of her goggles, but after a moment, the light flashed green.

"Uh, the door hasn't opened," Theo noted. "Did we do something wrong?"

Amy and I shook our heads at the same time. "There's a delay," she told him. "To give people a chance to mask up, just in case."

"Huh," he muttered. "Makes sense."

Just then, the door _whooshed_ open, and we entered.

=/=

Some of the Wards had obviously gone already; Vista, for instance, was still in middle school, and so did not need to stagger her appearance with anyone else. I spotted Aegis and Kid Win, both in street clothes and masks.

_Different grades, _I decided. _Makes less of a problem to get back in._

Aegis came over to meet us. "Security," he noted. "Nice to meet you again."

"You too, Aegis," I replied, shaking his hand. For a teen, he had a strong grip; but of course I had known that. "Meet Theo; he's your newest Ward. Along with Weaver, who of course you know. Theo, this is Aegis, and that's Kid Win. He usually wears more armour than that."

Theo shook Aegis' hand, looking slightly stunned. "I'm – it's a real honour to be here. I never thought I'd be doing this."

Kid Win strolled over. "Theo? As in Theo Anders, son of Kaiser? _That_ Theo Anders?"

I nodded. "And he wants nothing to do with his father, or what his father does," I pointed out firmly. "He's joined the Wards. That's what he wants to do."

Theo gave me a grateful look; I raised my eyebrows at Kid Win. "I trust him. Okay?"

Aegis turned to Kid Win. "This is Security; I've met him before. He knows what he's talking about. If he says Theo's good people, then I'm willing to believe him."

Kid Win gave Theo a long look, then grinned and held out his hand. "Kid Win. Pleased to have you on the team, Theo."

Theo was just reaching out to shake the proffered hand when there was a raucous noise, and the monitor screens flashed.

"What's that? Your ride back to Arcadia?" I asked.

Aegis shook his head. "No, that's a different sound. This is a crime alert."

One moment, he was standing next to us; the next, he was alighting next to the monitor station. The rest of us followed; I got there last, shortly behind Theo.

Aegis was already clicking the mouse and tapping in commands. A screen came up, with a blinking line of red text.

"Oh, shit," muttered Aegis.

The text read: **ONI LEE AND ABB AT MAYORS RESIDENCE. HOSTAGES TAKEN.**

* * *

End of Chapter Thirty-Nine


	40. Chapter 40

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Forty: Conflict Resolution

* * *

_Former Chief Petty Officer David Laborn scowled as he strode down the sidewalk. A big man, he was solid in the shoulders, and if he wasn't quite as fit as he used to be, that was neither here nor there. But ever since he'd left the Navy, one thing after another had turned out to be a disappointment._

_The woman he'd left the service for, who he'd opened his heart to, learned how to love, had turned into a cheating, drug-addled bitch. His son wasn't so bad; the boy had promise of being a good fighter someday. But his daughter … too much of her mother had rubbed off on her, he figured. Her clothes, her attitude, basically everything about her. At least she wasn't using; that much he could be grateful for. So far._

"_You should wear more clothes," he growled as she extended her stride to keep up with him. "Me and the boys come into port, we'd see someone dressed like you, we knew what their trade was."_

"_Yeah, whatevs," she replied carelessly._

_And that was the main problem, right there. Back in the Navy, a guy gave him lip, it was time to take the guy someplace for a quiet chat. The type of chat that resulted in black eyes that no-one ever talked about. But when the back-chat was coming from a woman half his size, or a girl about one-fifth his size, you couldn't hit them. And they knew it. So they just kept pushing your buttons as hard as they could, unless you backed off and let them do whatever the hell they wanted._

_His head came up; it had been a while since he'd done any serious fighting, but the instincts were still there. And his instincts were screaming at him._

_He saw the problem; four ABB guys, in line abreast, moving down the street toward him. Toward him and Aisha. They weren't just going somewhere, joking about stuff, like he'd seen some of them doing. They meant business._

_Reaching out, he took hold of Aisha's shoulder._

"_What the fuck?" she protested, trying to shake his grip off._

"_Shut up," he growled. "Do what I say, and don't argue. Down this way."_

_For a miracle, she shut up, and let him steer her into a side-street, barely more than an alleyway. He wasn't scared of any four ABB shitheels, but he didn't want to get Aisha mixed up in something like that. Better to get out of their way and let them go do what they wanted to do._

_They were halfway down the side-street when he pulled up short. Four more ABB punks were coming down the other direction. He glanced back; the first four had followed them in._

_**Fuck. I let them trap us.**_

_"Aisha," he told her grimly, pushing her toward a gap between two dumpsters. "Get in there." He knew that normally, given that tone of voice, she would have argued just on principle. But now was not the time or place to argue; she did as she was told._

_"We're not lookin' for trouble," he called out to the approaching gang members. "It's the Empire that's causin' you trouble, not us."_

_"We'll get to those Nazi skinhead fucks when we get to 'em," the leader sneered. "But right now, you're on ABB turf, an' you gotta pay toll. Or the girl gets to do it for you." He gripped his crotch and made a few hip-thrusting motions, to make his meaning abundantly clear; several of his cronies laughed and did the same._

_David heard Aisha whimper from beside him._

_"You sick fucks," he gritted. "She's only fourteen." In an undertone, he added, "If you get a chance to run, kid, do it."_

_"I can't leave you," she gasped. "They'll kill you."_

_He chuckled darkly. "I'll make 'em pay for it. Your old man's taken a few beatings, kid. Won't be anything that hasn't happened before. If you can, go."_

_The gang members were close, now._

_"Watch my back," he muttered, and stepped toward the closest one. That one swung a chain at his head, but he raised one muscular forearm; the links wrapped around it instead. In the next instant, he had stepped in, his craggy fist driving out in an almost instinctive motion. It connected; the gang member went down in a boneless heap._

_"Dad!" Aisha warned, from off to the side._

_He turned, fast, the arm with the chain around it leading the way. Sunlight gleamed off of the blade in the punk's hand; he used the chain to deflect it, buried his fist deep in the little bastard's solar plexus. **Two down, six to go.**_

_**"Dad!" **she screamed, much more shrilly than before. He glanced around, saw that one gang member had slipped in, grabbed Aisha by the arm. But even as he stepped toward them, she stamped on his foot and clawed at his eyes; he let go, cursing._

_However, the momentary distraction had been enough for another one of the punks to get close with a knife. It flashed silver, and he felt the burn as blood spilled down his arm from a gash, just beside the chain links._

_The punk tried to double down, stepping in close, but then there was a hollow **thump,** and he fell; Aisha was standing behind him with a length of wood. Possibly the leg off of a billiards table._

"_Look out!" he bellowed to her, as the ABB shithead went after her again. She squealed and ducked away; David found himself too occupied with two more of the bastards to be able to help her._

_All of a sudden, there was no-one left to fight. The ABB bastards were either down for the count or staggering away. He dropped the chain to the ground, pulled his shirt off to wrap around the cut on his arm. **Gonna want to disinfect that,** he told himself._

_Then he looked around. "Aisha?" he called out. **"AISHA!"**_

_There was no answer._

=/=/=

"Oh, for _fuck's _sake!" I groaned, slapping my forehead. "So _that's _where he got to." Possibilities were unfolding in my head, and I didn't like any of them. I looked at the young heroes in the room. "Weaver, got bugs?"

She nodded briefly. "Like you told me."

I smiled. "Good girl. Aegis, how fast can you fly, carrying Weaver?"

The brawny young man blinked, then looked at Taylor calculatingly.

"Hundred and twenty pounds," she stated, answering his unasked question.

"Pretty damn fast," he told me. "Why? Do I need to get her out there?"

I nodded. "Yes, you do. Go, now."

"But I'm not costumed up!" he protested.

"One, you've got a mask. Two, Weaver's the one who needs to be there." I paused. "Do you trust me?"

His head came up. "Yeah, I trust you."

"Then trust me when I say that you need to get Weaver out there, right _now."_

Aegis hesitated, looked at me, and then at Taylor; or rather, at the spot where she'd been standing. She wasn't there, because she was running toward the doors. "Come on!" she yelled.

"Fuck," he muttered, and flew in her direction. They reached the thick metal doors at the same time; she slapped the panel half a second ahead of him. As the doors opened, I heard him say to her, "I hope he knows what he's doing."

The closing doors cut off her reply; I put them out of my mind and turned to Amy. "Panacea, call your sister; you're gonna need a lift." I paused. "Actually, hold that thought. Someone else needs a lift more than you do. Canary."

Amy stared at me. "But Vicky doesn't like her. Doesn't _trust_ her."

"Vicky," I told her flatly, "is going to have to deal. _Call_ her." I turned to Kid Win, pointed at the console. "You can contact Armsmaster on that thing, right?"

"Of course." Leaning over the desk, he clicked the mouse, calling up a window. Scrolled down a list of names until he reached ARMSMASTER, and clicked on it.

A moment later, the familiar voice rolled out of the speakers. _"You've got Armsmaster. Make it quick."_ Dimly, in the background, I could hear the deep-throated roar of his bike's engine. Wherever he was going, he wasn't taking the scenic route. I could guess where.

"Armsmaster, this is Security," I told him. "Is the Mayor or his son at home?"

_"Not to our knowledge," _he replied tersely.

"Bugger," I muttered. "Okay, Lee'll be pulling a hostage deal with the mayor's family. Release Lung and Bakuda or he kills everyone. You know the man better than I do. He's capable of doing it, right?"

_"In a heartbeat," _he confirmed. _"But how do you - never mind. Do you have any insights?"_

"A couple," I told him. "I've just sent Aegis there with Weaver now. I need you to authorise Canary to go with Glory Girl. We need to get people there sooner rather than later; Lee's just had the rug pulled from under him, and any sort of lengthy negotiations will see Christner's wife or little girls dead."

_"You **sent **Aegis with Weaver." _It wasn't quite a query.

"Yeah," I told him. "If it's not what I think it is, it won't do any harm. If it is, she can do a lot of good. And I trust Weaver to make good decisions under pressure."

_"At some point in the future," _he told me dryly, _"we're going to have to discuss the concept of 'chain of command'. But right now; Canary. I see what you're getting at. I have the device."_

"Excellent," I responded. "Can you authorise her release into Glory Girl's custody for the duration?"

_"I don't have that power," _he informed me. _"And in any case, Glory Girl isn't equipped to nullify Canary's Master power."_

"Canary won't try to escape," I assured him.

_"Do you know that for a fact?"_

"Not for a fact," I admitted. "But I believe it implicitly."

_"So you do," _he agreed. _"I see where you're going with this. But as I said, I can't authorise it. You'll have to get in touch with the Director for that."_

"Thank you," I told him. "I'll make that call now."

_"Armsmaster out," _he acknowledged; a moment later, the line went dead.

I glanced at Kid Win, but he was already scrolling through the menu. Piggot's name came up, and he clicked on it.

The phone rang on her end a total of three times before it was picked up.

_"Piggot." _She sounded harried.

"Director," I greeted her. "You know about the Mayor's residence." It wasn't a question.

_"Yes, Mr Allen, I do," _she replied acerbically. _"Have you called to share any pearls of wisdom?"_

"Oni Lee will be holding Christner's family hostage to force the release of Lung and Bakuda," I stated. "He'll be very antsy; without any cape backup, the longer this draws out, the more likely a parahuman response can be mounted against him. So he'll be pushing for fast results, and people will die if we drag our heels. So we need to get the right people on site ASAP. Anything there you didn't know?"

_"I just got off the phone with Mrs Christner," _she confirmed. _"So far you're batting a thousand. She says if he sees cops or parahumans, he'll start killing hostages. Do you see a way out of this?"_

I took a deep breath. "I just sent Aegis that way with Weaver. She's equipped to do covert infiltration and investigation. Also, non-lethal takedowns. But I'd much rather we have another plan, one we can pull simultaneously."

"_I'm listening," _she replied, her tone just a little dubious.

"Canary," I told her succinctly. "Panacea's calling Glory Girl in; she can get her there in minutes. Armsmaster has a device that lets her hijack any speaker system. If she can fill the house with her overtones, that may just dull their reflexes."

"_Glory Girl won't be able to carry Canary and her minder at the same time." _Piggot's voice was flat.

"This is true," I agreed. "I've spoken this over with Armsmaster, and I believe that she won't try to escape. But we _need her there._"

She sighed. _"I almost wish we had Shadow Stalker back. She would have been good at this."_

"Or gotten someone killed," I pointed out. "Better off asking for Flechette." I paused, then added hopefully, "She's not in Brockton Bay yet, is she?"

"_No, worse luck,"_ grumbled Piggot. _"You're certain Canary won't try to escape, or misuse her Master abilities?"_

"Absolutely certain. A show of trust right now will go a long way."

A long pause. _"... fine. On your own head be it. Have Glory Girl meet her on the roof."_

I glanced at Amy, who was holding her own phone, hood pushed back so she could press it to her ear. She nodded, and gave me a thumb's-up. "... on the roof," she repeated.

"Thank you, Director," I replied. "I appreciate your trust in me."

"_Well, you have yet to lead us astray, Mr Allen," _she reminded me. _"If you'll excuse me; I have a call on another line."_

As the sound cut off, I turned to Kid Win. "Do you have to stay here, or is there something you should be doing in this sort of situation?"

He shrugged. "This is only a repeater screen. The PRT gets this information, as does the Protectorate. And I'm supposed to report back to school."

I offered my hand; he shook it. "It was good to meet you," I told him sincerely.

"You too," he replied. "Armsmaster and the Director seem to think a lot of you."

I shrugged. "Just doing what I hope is the right thing."

"Aren't we all," he agreed.

At that moment, one of the screens flashed, and a beep sounded. "And that's my ride," he noted, grabbing his backpack and heading for the door.

I gestured to Amy and Theo. "Come on," I told them, as I followed Chris.

"Where are we going?" asked Theo, although he came along readily enough. Amy didn't even bother asking the question; she just followed along, although her eyes were alight with curiosity.

"Roof," I told him. "I want to make sure that Vicky's good with giving Paige a lift."

"Hmm," Amy commented, as the door opened before us. "Probably not a bad idea."

=/=/=

_Aisha Laborn ran for her life. Two of the ABB punks followed her, which to her count meant two less that her father had to fight. But it also meant that it was two that were trying to get to her._

_She dashed down alleyways, leaped over trash cans and scrambled over fences. The trouble was, she wasn't as fit as she should have been; certainly not as fit as Brian was. She couldn't get away from them, couldn't lose them._

_**If it was night time, **she thought randomly, **I could sneak away in the shadows. But it had to be fucking daytime.**_

_She tripped and went sprawling; by the time she regained her feet, they were almost on her. "No more running, bitch," the first one told her, waving a knife. "Now you pay what you owe."_

"_Fuck off and die in a fire," she retorted, backing away, and looking around for a weapon, any weapon._

"_You got a mouth on you," he responded with an unpleasant laugh. "I'm gonna enjoy feeling that wrapped around my -"_

_Snatching a trash can lid, she spun it like a frisbee, catching him in the face. He cursed in pain and fell back, blood running from a cut on his forehead._

_Sticking out of the trash can was a length of steel pipe; she wrenched at it, pulled it free. Clutching it in both hands, she waved it at the punks. "Fuck off, or I'll break your fucking kneecaps and work upward from there," she promised._

_The one she'd hit with the lid wasn't even listening; he rushed her. She swiped sideways with the pipe, and struck right where she said she would; there was a **crack**, but he was falling toward her. She was slammed backward on to the ground, driving the breath from her body._

_For a moment, she thought she'd been knocked out; there was a darkness in front of her eyes, and roaring in her ears. Strange creatures writhed in a starry void. Beyond was a planet, not unlike Earth -_

_She was back in the alleyway, lying on the ground with a pain in her right side. **Rib,** she thought._

_The guy who had fallen on her was just getting up, with help from his buddy._

"_Shit, that was a nasty trip," his buddy told him._

"_Don't I know it," the first guy replied. "Why don't we go see how the others are doing?"_

_He limped away, supported by his buddy, while Aisha stared._

_**What the fuck? They chase me down, and now they just walk away? Something's not right here.**_

_And then she looked down at herself, and saw the blood, and that became a very distant problem._

=/=/=

We moved down the stainless steel corridor at a fast walk, and entered the elevator. Chris swiped his ID card and pressed for the Basement level; I nodded to Theo, and he swiped again. I pressed the button for Roof.

The lift moved upward fast; it seemed only a few seconds before the doors did their complex unfolding trick at the basement garage level.

"See you, guys," Chris told us as he got out. "Nice meeting you."

"Likewise," Theo replied; I nodded in agreement.

The doors folded shut once more, and we watched the number counter climb.

"I understand these lifts have some sort of inertial damper on them," I commented as the digits rolled over, almost too fast for the human eye to follow.

"I hope so," Theo responded, his eyes also fixed on the display. "Otherwise stopping's going to be -"

The lift stopped, and the doors opened. Theo and I both blinked.

" … a total anticlimax," I filled in for him, and stepped out of the lift. I was paying attention to make sure that Amy and Theo followed me, so when a voice called me by name, I was taken more or less by surprise.

"Mike! It's good to see you!"

That glorious voice could only belong to one person; I turned, only to be ambush-hugged by the young lady herself.

"Paige, hi," I replied with a grin, returning the hug; how could I not? "I hear you kicked ass out there today."

"That she did," confirmed the uniformed PRT soldier who had followed her out of the lift, two doors down. "Mr Allen, how you doing?"

"Just fine, Joe. Just fine. Now, you know what's happening?"

"Yes, sir. Ms Macabee's being released into Glory Girl's custody so she can go help save the Mayor's family …?" There was a faint questioning note to his voice.

"That's the plan," I agreed. I looked around at the corridor surrounding us. "Now, which way outside?"

"This way," McKenzie offered, and started off. I followed, with Paige at my side; Amy and Theo came along behind us.

* * *

The corridor terminated in large double doors; Corporal McKenzie opened these, and we followed him out on to the rooftop. There was a large helipad there, big enough (I estimated) to take anything short of an actual Chinook. No helicopter was present at the moment. Instead, Glory Girl stood on the non-skid surface, talking to the two PRT guards.

"Vicky!" Amy called out, running forward; the blonde heroine turned her head.

"Ames!" she replied. The two girls came together in a hug.

"So what's going on?" asked Glory Girl as we came up to her. "You said that someone needed a lift … oh."

Obviously not an unintelligent girl, she was looking at the five of us, her pretty brow furrowing. I guessed that she had reached the correct conclusion; a moment later, she confirmed it.

"You have _got_ to be kidding." Her eyes fixed on Paige, she fairly _radiated_ disapproval.

I turned to Amy. "You didn't tell her?"

The biokinetic shrugged helplessly. "I didn't know how."

I sighed. "Great." Turning back to Vicky, I waved my hand between her and Paige to get her attention. "Earth to Glory Girl. Come in, Glory Girl."

She switched her glare to me. "Seriously? You expect me to carry her _anywhere?"_

"_Yes,"_ I told her, as firmly as I could. "You've met Mayor Christner's wife and daughters?"

"Uh, yes?" she replied. "Why, what's happened?"

"Oni Lee has them hostage," I told her bluntly. "We need Canary on site. You're the fastest flier we've got right now. So whatever the problem it is that you have with her – _deal with it."_

Her eyes widened. "Oni Lee?"

"Oni Lee," I confirmed. "He wants Lung and Bakuda freed. So you have a choice. You can deal, or you can walk away. But if you walk away, and those people die, it won't be _Canary's _fault."

She bit her lip, looking at me, then at Canary. "What if she tries to Master me?"

"I _won't,"_ Paige told her, in her gorgeous voice. "What sort of a monster do you think I am? I want to help those people, too."

"I have earplugs," McKenzie told Glory Girl unexpectedly. Reaching into a pouch, he pulled out a pair of bright orange foam buds. "With these in, you won't hear a thing."

"Great," she responded, grabbing them. "Okay, I'm good."

"One more thing," I cautioned her. "Lee has said that if he sees a parahuman or a cop, he starts killing hostages. So stay out of sight of the house. Got it?"

"Got it." She paused, staring at my shoulder. "Did you know you've got a bug on you?"

I turned my head and peered down at my shoulder. A spy bug looked back at me. "Huh. Cute. I think I'll keep it."

Glory Girl shook her head in mild bemusement; squeezing the earplugs down to size, she fitted them into her ears. "Come on," she told Paige, just a little nasally, "let's get you to where you need to go."

Paige allowed Vicky to pick her up bridal-style, although she looked a little dubious.

"She's stronger than she looks," I assured her.

Once she was set, Vicky turned to Amy. "Just remember," she told her nasally. "We still need to have that talk."

Without waiting for an answer – which she wouldn't have heard anyway – she took off; in moments, she and Paige were a distant dot in the sky.

"Talk?" I asked Amy.

She sighed. "About why I moved out of home, and all that."

"Not looking forward to it?" I asked sympathetically.

A shake of her head. "Not particularly."

I put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "You'll do fine."

She leaned into me for just a moment. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Well then," I dusted my hands off. "Done all I can do. Joe, there'll be PRT troops headed that way, right?"

"Standard procedure," he agreed with a nod. "I've got a space saved on one of the trucks."

"Cool. We'll head down with you, then Amy can give Theo and me the grand tour." I jabbed the button, just as Amy's phone rang.

"Or not," I observed. "Mobiles; can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."

The lift doors folded back, and we got in; Amy answered the call. "Hello?" A moment later, she was handing it to me. "It's for you."

I stared at the phone, then held it to my ear. "Mike Allen speaking."

Joe hit the button for the basement garage; the lift started down.

"_Mr Allen, this is, uh, Brian Laborn."_

I recognised the voice. "Yeah, what's up?"

"_I need your help."_

"Uh, how badly? Kind of in the middle of something here."

"_Really badly. Aisha's gone missing. We think she's hurt."_

The lift stopped at the garage level; Joe got out. A truck was waiting, engine running.

"Fuck. I'm at the PRT building. Where are you?"

"_I can be out at the front in ten minutes."_

I blinked. "What, on a _dog?" _That would draw a great deal of attention, and I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to get on one of those things again.

"_No. I've got a car. Can you meet me?"_

Amy and Theo were staring at me, no doubt puzzled by my end of the conversation. "Mike?" asked Amy. "Which floor?"

"Hold on," I told Brian, then put the phone to my chest. "Amy, sorry to do the bolt, but I gotta go do something."

Amy stared at me. "Wait, what? Where are you going?"

"Gotta help find a missing girl."

"Theo and me can help too," she replied immediately.

"Theo?" I asked, looking to him.

"Uh, sure, okay," he agreed. "Is she a friend of yours?"

I shook my head. "Never met her before. But sure, okay." Putting the phone to my ear again, I asked, "Still there?"

_"Yeah, I'm still here."_

"I'll be out front. See you in ten. I''m bringing a couple of friends." Ending the call, I handed Amy's phone back to her. "Thanks."

She nodded in acknowledgement. "Not a problem. Where's your phone, and how did they know to ring me?"

"Answer to question one is that Kaiser has it. Answer to question two is that Tattletale loves to show off that she's a know-it-all."

Her eyes widened. _"Tattletale's_ involved in this?"

"Only tangentially," I assured her. "Remember Grue? It's his sister. She went missing during the gang war."

"Oh, shit," Theo muttered. "That's terrible."

I squeezed his shoulder. Of course he'd think that; Aster meant as much to him as an actual sister would have. Knowing the Empire Eighty-Eight, maybe more.

"Thanks, guys," I told them. "I appreciate this."

=/=/=

_Aisha had lost track of which way she'd come to get away from the ABB guys, but as she staggered along, pressing her hand over the cut on her side, she thought she recognised some buildings. Then she caught sight of a street sign, and nodded._

_**Big bro's place. Where the gang hangs out. Maybe they'll be there.**_

_She looked down at herself, blood welling out between her fingers, running down her side, soaking into her shorts, running down her leg. Covering her sneaker._

_**If I don't get some help soon, I'm gonna fuckin' **_**die.**

_Grimly, she staggered on, one foot in front of the other._

=/=/=

_"You need to fly low, once we get near the place," Weaver told Aegis. "If he sees parahumans and cops, he says he'll kill the hostages."_

_"Makes sense," he agreed. "But how do **you** know?"_

_"I left a spy bug on Mike's shoulder, and Amy made me a ton of relay bugs," she told him with obvious satisfaction. "Mike's been on to Armsmaster and Director Piggot, and he's arranging for Glory Girl to meet us there with Canary." As she spoke, a bug wriggled out from under her hair and launched itself into Aegis' slipstream. She didn't seem to notice._

_Aegis considered that for a moment. "So you can listen in on any place you've got one of your spy bugs, that you're in range of."_

"_Basically, yes. Also, visual coverage."_

_He shook his head. "So you're not just a Master. Your bugs make you into a kind of a Thinker, as well as a Blaster."_

" … _huh. I guess they do," she agreed. "Never thought of it that way before."_

_They flew in silence for a few moments; he began to lose altitude, given that they were coming up on the Mayor's estate._

"_There." Weaver pointed. "The gates are good. I've got range on the place now."_

_As they touched down, a veritable cloud of bugs spread out from her and took to the air, flying on to the estate. Aegis stared. "Wait, what the hell?" he asked. "Where did that all come from? And what **are** they?"_

"_I generally keep them in my hair," she pointed out. "Also, the storage compartment on the back of my costume." She held out her hand, palm up. Three bugs alighted on it. "You've seen the spy bugs before, those are the big ones. The intermediate ones are relay bugs. The skinny wasp-like ones are really actually wasps, basically oversized versions that deliver ketamine when they sting."_

_She gestured, and the last three bugs took off as well. "The estate is so big I lose range just past the house; I'd prefer to have total coverage. Just in case there are any ABB guys on the far side."_

"_Good thinking," he replied. "Just to be sure; you're not just going to attack straight away?"_

_She shook her head. "Nope. I **am** converging the local bug life on the house, just in case, though. Ah, got eyes on the hostages, anyway."_

"_They're alive?" he asked._

"_Yeah. Looks like mother, two daughters, and someone who might be a housemaid or cook or someone. Ah. Ah crap."_

_He tensed. "Ah crap?"_

_She sighed unhappily. "The Mayor had security on site. They've been slaughtered. Single shots, or knife wounds. Oni Lee's work."_

"_That does not surprise me in the slightest," he responded grimly._

"_Me neither," she agreed. "Okay, first spy bug is on site. Yeah, mom's got a black eye, but kids seem to be okay. They're tied to chairs, looks like. No-one's bleeding. They're talking … jeez, you'd think they'd talk in English. They always do in the movies. But at least no-one's threatening the hostages right this very second."_

"_Could you take them out?" he asked. "I mean, theoretically?"_

"_I … I'm not sure," she replied, doubt heavy in her voice. "Most of 'em, yeah. I got spiders spinning web-cords. I can disable their guns, trip them, hit their hands with ketamine. But Oni Lee's a huge joker in the pack. He's pacing, a lot. He's already on edge. If he even thinks he's under attack, he'll kill the hostages, no doubt about it."_

"_Crap," he muttered. "I hate dealing with the psychos."_

"_Okay, just got a proper headcount," she reported. "Six guys in the house; two on the ground floor, four upstairs. Another four outside, roaming the grounds in pairs, not far from the house. I got them all tagged. And Oni Lee; he's on the ground floor, in the dining room, with the hostages. He's yelling something at them, but it's not in Engish, dammit. Now he's going to the phone."_

"_We might have to move soon, like it or not," he warned her._

"_Yeah," she agreed, not sounding thrilled with the concept. "Whoops, Glory Girl just passed my perimeter; you might want to wave her down."_

_Leaving Weaver to her own devices for a moment, Aegis rose into the air. He made sure to stay below treetop height, and to keep out of line of sight to the house. Seconds later, Glory Girl did indeed zip into view; she was following the road, and moving faster with Canary on board than Aegis could travel when unencumbered. He waved to catch her attention, then dropped back down to where Weaver was waiting._

"_Wow," muttered Canary as Glory Girl set her on her feet. She looked somewhat windblown. "That's some way to travel."_

"_I know, right?" asked Weaver._

_Tyres crunched on gravel, and Armsmaster's bike rolled into view. He rolled up to the four teenagers, the engine only making a slight humming noise. Parking the oversized motorcycle, the armoured hero stepped off the machine and came over to them._

"_Report," he ordered._

"_I've got some bugs in place, more to come," Weaver told him. "There's four upstairs, two downstairs, four outside. Four hostages; the mother and daughters, plus one servant, I think. Hostages are fine at the moment. All upstairs in the dining room, tied to chairs. Oni Lee's on the phone to the mayor. He sounds angry. I can't hear the other side of the conversation without getting a spy bug too close to him."_

_She sketched with a twig in the dirt. Two squares, side by side. Bugs landed on it, moved around slowly. She indicated them with the twig. "Upstairs. Downstairs. Hostages. Oni Lee. Mooks."_

_Armsmaster nodded. "Well done. That's perfect. Do they have radios, or any other electronic comms? Or is there a radio or TV on in the house?"_

_Weaver nodded. "They have two-way radios, it looks like. I'm hearing bursts of static from them."_

"_That's the first good news I've heard all day," Armsmaster told them, with a grim smile. "The Director tells me that Oni Lee is really pushing Christner hard to have one or both of his bosses freed. We've got less than fifteen minutes to get results. Ideas?"_

_Weaver raised her hand slightly. "How about this ..."_

=/=/=

_Aisha still had the key Brian had given her for the place. She fumbled it into the lock, pushed the door open, and staggered inside. But when she reached the spiral staircase, she was defeated. Three times she tried to climb it, and three times, she fell, ending up in an untidy heap next to the stairs. Worse, the last fall restarted the bleeding; she could feel the warmth on her side._

_She lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, trying to convince herself that she wasn't dying. At some point, the door banged open, and people barged in. **Big bro and his buddies. I'm saved.**_

_But she wasn't saved. Brian ran upstairs, right past her, and into the living area they had fixed up. Searched it, calling her name. She tried calling out herself, but the pain was too much._

_Bitch gave orders to her dogs; they snuffled around, and a few of them sniffed at her directly, but then they wandered off again, or sat down and licked themselves._

_**What the fuck is wrong with these people? Are they fucking **_**blind_?_**

_And then they went away again, except for Lisa. Lisa, who sat on the bottom step and stared around into the dimness._

"_Lisa," croaked Aisha, and it seemed that the blonde almost heard her; she turned her head slightly, as if listening._

_But after a while, even she got up, sighed to herself, and wandered upstairs._

_And then Aisha was alone. And the blood kept welling out of her._

=/=/=

Brian pulled up in seven minutes, rather than the ten he had promised. We opened the doors and climbed in; I got in the front; Amy and Theo piled into the back. Amy was no longer wearing her robes; under them, she had on a rather mundane T-shirt and jeans.

"Introductions," I stated as he pulled out into traffic. "Brian, Amy, Theo. Brian is the soon to be ex-supervillain currently known as Grue. Amy's otherwise known as Panacea. And Theo hasn't got a name yet, but he's a cape, he's Kaiser's kid, and he hates his father's guts."

"I really do," offered Theo from the back seat. "I don't know what I can do to help, but I'm here anyway."

Brian stared at me. "Seriously? I didn't ask you to bring capes along."

"Eyes on the road," I reminded him. He probably needed the reminder; the quick, nervous movements of his hands and eyes betrayed a certain level of agitation. For which I didn't blame him; I knew how much he cared for his sister.

"Okay, so what happened?" I asked.

He clenched his hands on the wheel. "Dad called me. They were walking to the shops when it started. A bunch of gangers attacked them."

"Empire Eighty-Eight?" I asked, reflexively. _Dammit, Kaiser, you were supposed to not attack innocent targets!_

He shook his head. "No, just … I think it might have been ABB. It's where he lives." He shot a sideways glance at me. "Not every attack is racially motivated, you know."

I inclined my head to acknowledge the point. "My bad. So what happened? I know your dad's a pretty good boxer."

He nodded. "Yeah. He put a few of them down, then one of them slashed his arm, and then Aisha hit the guy with a piece of wood, and after that he was too busy to keep track of her. But once the fight was over, he couldn't find Aisha anywhere. So he phoned me. I went looking for her, where she might be. Found blood, but no Aisha."

I was starting to get an idea of what had happened. "So why did you call me? I mean, you've got Lisa in your corner. She's about as kickass at finding people as anyone."

"I called her," he explained. "She tried, but couldn't get anywhere. So she told me to get hold of you. She said you'd know what would have happened to Aisha. That you understood more about us than any of us knew."

I nodded. "Right. Gotcha. Okay, take me to where the fight started. We've got to go from there."

"But she's _not there_," he protested. "We looked all over. Even got Rachel to get her dogs to track her."

I raised my head at that. "And did they? Could they, I mean?"

"Yeah, to a point," he confirmed. "But they only went to where she'd been. Not where she is."

"How do you know she'd been there?" I asked.

"Blood trail," he told me succinctly. "And a little pool of blood. That's all."

_Oh, shit. _I sat forward in my seat. "Take us there," I told him. _"Now."_

=/=/=

_Oni Lee paced back and forth. He was angry and agitated, and he knew it. Taking the family of the mayor hostage had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, but he could almost feel the forces massing against him. The deadline was fast approaching; they had tried to argue with him about extending it, but he had been adamant._

_If Lung, or Bakuda, was not released by the time five more minutes had passed, then he would hold the phone to the mother's ear, and allow her husband to listen as he slowly cut her throat._

_He did not fear to do so; he had done many worse things in his career. However, he was hesitant to do it now, because he had so few hostages. Kill the mother, and only two children remained. Girl children, at that. He himself would not give up an important position for a girl child; why would the mayor? After all, he already had a fine, strong son._

_**Perhaps I should kill the servant first,** he pondered. **If he hears her die, then his heart will quail, and he will know that I am willing to execute his woman if my needs are not met.**_

_The logic was sound; he moved to the window, looked out across the lawn. His hands, of their own accord, played with one of the knives he wore as part of his arsenal. It was a fine blade; light, sharp, and well-balanced. He had killed many men with it._

_He saw the bug perched on the window, but paid it no heed. While he had painful memories of the ignominious retreat from Winslow High School, not so many days ago, it was not something that he dwelt upon. The fat security guard was surely dead by now, as would be anyone else with a Bakuda bomb in their head, with a counter ticking down. So he was no longer an issue. As for the cape called Weaver, it was unlikely, bordering on the impossible, that she would be close enough to be involved here. So he didn't even worry about it._

_The two guards on the outside passed by, scanning the hedges, then turned the corner of the house. He turned from the window, checked the clock. Three minutes until the servant would come to the end of her useful lifespan._

_He did not see the two figures that stealthily crossed the lawn, took refuge behind an ornamental shrubbery._

_Nor did he hear, at first, the breathy singing emanating from the two-way radio hanging on his belt. It was just **there**, emerging from the static, gradually taking over from it. Weaving its insidious spell._

_Two minutes to go. He teleported downstairs, to ensure that the men he had placed there were alert, and not asleep or drunk. One was sitting down in a comfortable armchair, but stood up abruptly when Lee appeared. He gave them both a curt nod, then teleported away again._

_Gradually, some part of his brain recognised that there was music, a song, floating through his head._

" … _**why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends ..."**_

=/=/=

I had never been to this specific area of Brockton Bay, but I could see that it was a fairly low-end part of town. The buildings were run-down, the streets unswept, and more than one derelict car sat alongside the road. Some were merely missing wheels or doors, while others had been comprehensively gutted; by human action, by fire, or both.

Brian took me there by the back streets; my mental map of the city was still far from complete, so it came somewhat as a shock to me that, when he pulled up, I knew where we were.

"I should've known," I muttered, eyeing the large, rusting warehouse. The signage on the side was still readable, but only just; _Redmond Welding._ "She's been here before, right?"

" ... a couple of times, yeah," he agreed, as we got out. "When Dad couldn't take her attitude any more."

"To be fair," I reminded him, "she _does_ suffer from a short attention span. And a need for attention. Also, she's an incurable smartass."

He turned toward me as we headed for the door. "Now seriously, _how_ the hell do you know that? I know for a fact that you've never met her."

"One of these days, I'll tell you." I stopped at the door. There was a dark reddish stain on the handle, and a partial sneaker print in the concrete at the base, also in that dark reddish colour. I pointed at them.

He nodded, answering my unasked question. "Yeah, we found that when we got here. She's hurt, bleeding, and _I can't find her."_

The anguish in his voice was almost palpable. "I'll do my best," I assured him.

He tried the handle; it was unlocked. "We found it this way, too," he told me, hope blooming on his face. "But we locked it again." Pushing the door open, he shouted, "Aisha! Aisha! Are you here?"

His voice echoed within the dim, empty factory space. A couple of bats, far down at the other end, fluttered around for a moment before perching once more.

And then, from upstairs, we heard a voice.

"No, it's just me."

My eyes were adjusting to the dim light inside the building, and I could just barely make out the spiral staircase, below the lit-up rectangle that was the doorway into their loft hideout.

"Lisa!" he replied. "Is she here? Have you seen her?"

"_No,"_ she called back, and I could hear the frustration evident in her voice. "Rachel and Alec are out looking, with the dogs. But I don't think she's out there. There's something I'm _missing."_ She started down the stairs. "You brought Mr Allen." Amy and Theo followed me in. "And … holy shit, Panacea. And … "

"Long story," I told her. "Brian, get the first aid kit. Lisa, show me where she last was."

He stared at me; I could make out his frown, even in the dim light. "What? You know where she is now?"

"I have a really good idea," I told him. "Now, _get the fucking kit_. Lisa, show me."

He started up the stairs, brushing past Lisa. She came the rest of the way down the stairs and joined me as I pulled the mini-Maglite out of my belt pouch.

"We already looked … " she began, then stared at me. "You _do_ know something."

I nodded, flashing the torch around. "Where did the trail end?"

She pointed. "Just beside the stairs. Little pool of blood."

I followed her pointing finger, walking that way, shining the torch. Found the pool of blood, a single bloodstained sneaker. No Aisha.

I turned the torch off and put it away. "So this is your base, huh?" I commented. "Pretty cool."

She stared at me. "Where is she?" she demanded.

"Who?" I asked.

"Aisha! Brian's sister! You said you knew where she was!" Her voice was rising to a shout; the echoes came back from the roof. Amy and Theo were staring at her, then at me.

Realisation returned. _Fuck. _I fumbled the torch out again. "Aisha's triggered," I told her. "I wasn't one hundred percent certain until this second, but I know it now. She's a Stranger. She makes people forget that she exists. And she's lying right _there."_ I flashed the torch again.

Amy and Theo crowded around. "I don't think there's anyone there," Theo offered diffidently.

I deliberately didn't look, but I kept flashing the light back and forth over the area. "Yes, there _is._ Lisa, your power's trying to get past it. Her power's default setting is 'on'. She has to deliberately suppress it." I raised my voice, still flashing the torch. "Aisha! Aisha Laborn! Turn your power off! Aisha! Aisha Laborn! You have a Stranger power! Turn it off!"

Lisa knelt down beside the pool of blood. She picked up the sneaker. "This wasn't here, earlier," she murmured.

"No," I agreed. "She kicked it off, to get attention. Aisha! You have to turn your power _off!"_

Brian came clattering back down the spiral staircase, carrying the first-aid kit. He stared at us; I was looking off into the distance, only observing with my peripheral vision, while Lisa was kneeling beside the pool of blood. The light from my torch splashed back and forth, sending shadows flickering here and there. I thought I saw the faintest of outlines, but it could have been a trick of the light. And I kept shouting Aisha's name. Telling her to turn her power _off._

And then Lisa reached out, and shook _something_ … and Aisha was lying there, blinking against the light. Her hand was clamped over an ugly wound in her side; blood covered her entire right side, from the wound on down.

"Fuckin' took you long enough," she mumbled.

=/=/=

" … _**why can't we be friends … "**_

"_Where is that song coming from?" demanded Oni Lee. "Who has the radio on?"_

_His men looked at each other and shrugged._

"_We have not touched the radio or any of the TV sets," one of them told him apologetically._

"_Then find it!" he shouted. "Turn it off! It offends me!"_

_They scurried off, looking._

" … _**why can't we be friends … "**_

_One minute to go. He drew the blade again, tested the edge on his thumb. It was, as he had known it would be, razor sharp._

_Picking up the cordless phone, he dialled the same number as before, then put it to his ear._

_Instead of the dial tone, he heard clearly, **" … why can't we be friends … ?"**_

_The voice was the most divine he had ever heard; he could feel it working on him. Why, indeed, could he not be friends with everyone? It would be such an easy thing to do. To release the hostages, to beg forgiveness of the Mayor …_

"_Argh!" he shouted, throwing the phone from him. "What is this madness?"_

_The voice swelled, became a paean of joy, blaring from the radio at his hip. He **wanted** to be friends, **wanted** to be nice to everyone._

_No, he didn't._

_Yes, he did._

_Dropping his knife, he put his hands over his ears._

_The large window shattered, glass fragments flying about his head. He looked around wildly. Two parabumans had appeared from nowhere; Glory Girl, and a masked boy in street clothes. Even as he tried to react, combative instincts dulled by the song, they flashed across the room, each grabbing two chairs. Two of his **hostages**. Then they reversed their direction, back across the room, out the window._

_The hostages, his leverage. Gone. Just like that._

_Snatching the radio from his hip, he threw it to the ground, stamped upon it. The song died, but it was too late; from downstairs, from outside, he heard the cries of alarm as his men were engaged. As they were beaten._

_**I will escape. I **_**will_ try again._**

_But even as he formulated that thought, struggling against the refrain which still ran through his mind, he felt multiple pinpricks on the back of his neck. His hand lashed up, slapped. He felt something crush under his hand, but then the lassitude began to spread through his system._

_Oni Lee fell to his knees, then slumped to the floor. Next to his head was the discarded cordless phone. As blackness overcame him, the last thing he heard was the tinny voice emanating from the speaker._

" … _**why can't we be friends … "**_

=/=/=

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," muttered Brian, wrenching open the first aid kit. Then he turned to Panacea. "Fuck it, why am I bothering? You can heal her!"

Amy froze.

Everyone stared at her; there was silence, apart from the rustling of the bats, far back in the darkness.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he shout at her. "Heal Aisha! Save her life!"

"Brian," I stated firmly. "Shut the fuck up for just a moment." I put my hand on Theo's shoulder, and handed him the mini-Maglite. He took it, kept it focused on Aisha. I stepped around him, drew Amy away from the group. Brian stared at her, at me. Lisa's focus was on Aisha, just in case she entered her Stranger state again.

"Amy," I murmured to the biokinetic. "Listen to me."

Her face was white as she looked up at me. Carefully, I took her hands in mine, so that she could get a read on my sincerity.

"You _don't have_ to do this," I told her, in as reassuring a tone as I could. "You are under no obligation to heal her. If you heal her, it must be because you, personally, want to." I took a deep breath. "Now, I'd like it if you _did. _Brian wants you to. And Aisha – I personally think she'd be bloody ecstatic. But it's not up to me, and it's not up to her, and it's not up to Brian. It's up to _you."_

She stared into my eyes for a long moment, then hugged me. I hugged her back, holding her close.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice muffled. "Thank you."

I just concentrated on holding her, on giving her the warmth, the trust, and the emotional bond which she had been missing for so long. Taylor and Danny were giving that to her, now, but they weren't here right now. I was.

After a long moment, she disengaged from the hug. With careful, precise steps, she walked over to where Aisha lay, knelt alongside her, and placed her hands on the younger girl's skin.

Without any fuss or bother, the slash in Aisha's side healed over, not even leaving a scar.

=/=/=

"_Well, holy fuck," Aisha told Theo, on the way back to the PRT building. She had cleaned herself up and put on clothes that were marginally more decent, but he still blushed if he looked at her for more than a few seconds. There was so much … her. "You just triggered today too? That means we're trigger buddies. High five."_

_Hesitantly, he returned the gesture, made more cramped in the back seat of the car. "Uh, I was in Boston … " he ventured._

"_So?" she dismissed the problem with a lofty gesture. "Still happened. And you're in the Wards, and if big bro's going into the Wards, I might as well see if I can't get in too." She elbowed him in the ribs, eyes full of mischief. "We might even go on patrol at the same time, huh?"_

_He didn't know what to say; another flush started rising in his face._

"_Aisha, leave him alone," Brian told her from the front seat._

_**Thank you,** thought Theo, very loudly._

_She subsided, giving her brother both middle fingers from behind._

"_I saw that," he commented blandly. Aisha responded by poking her tongue out and crossing her eyes._

_On Theo's other side, Amy seemed to be trying hard not to laugh. He glanced her way; she gave him a sympathetic look. He returned it gratefully. "So, uh, what happened back there?" he asked quietly._

_She nodded forwards, to where the security guard sat in the front passenger seat. "Ask Mike, when we get back. He can tell you better than I can."_

"_Okay," he agreed. "I'll tell you this much; I'm going to sleep well tonight. It's been an **exhausting** day."_

_She grinned and put one arm across his shoulders, giving him a companionable squeeze. "Yeah," she agreed. "I know how that goes."_

_Theo leaned back in his seat. **I think I'm going to like it in the Wards. People are much more fun to be around. Even when they're embarrassing the hell out of me.**_

=/=/=

Brian pulled up in a five-minute parking space near the PRT building, and set the parking brake. He turned to me, and held out his hand. "Thanks, man," he told me as we shook. "I can't tell you how much I owe you."

I shrugged. "You had a problem, I had the answer."

"Yeah," he answered, "but how did you know that she'd triggered as a Stranger?"

I grinned. "Long story. Short version is, she was due to trigger next month or so, but this gang war made it happen a little sooner. And I knew what she would trigger with, then. And so."

He shook his head. "And how the fuck did you know _that?"_

"What part of 'long story' did you not understand?" I asked, with a grin to disarm the question. "I know some very specific stuff; that's part of it. As for how and why, I might tell you. Sometime."

"Right," he muttered, shaking his head again. "I think I know now why Lisa mutters to herself when she gets offline from talking to you." He turned, leaning into the back seat. "And by the way, Amy? Thank you, so very much, for healing my sister. If you ever need anything, anything at all, just say so."

Amy nodded. "You're welcome." For a moment, it seemed to me that she was going to say something more, but then she opened the door and unclipped her seatbelt. I did the same, and we got out of the car, Theo sliding across the seat to get out on the passenger side as well.

Aisha got out on her side and scampered around the car. I held the door open for her, but she stopped on the pavement in front of me.

"I don't know how you knew what you knew, and to be honest, I don't give a flying fuck," she told me bluntly. "I'm just glad you did. So thanks."

For a moment, I thought she was going to hug me, but instead she ducked under my arm and climbed into the front seat of the car.

"You're welcome," I replied, and closed the door, careful not to hit her with it. Brian pulled out into traffic; we watched the car go.

Amy turned to me. "We go on the most _interesting_ trips," she informed me. "I've never had to worry about healing a patient that I didn't know was there."

I chuckled. "Anything to keep life from being boring."

As we entered the building, Theo cleared his throat. "Uh, Mr Allen?"

"Call me Mike," I told him easily. "You've earned it."

"Uh, right," he responded. "So, uh, Amy said to ask you about the healing thing?"

I glanced around; there was nobody nearby. "Amy?" I asked.

She looked at me and nodded. "Go ahead."

"Right," I stated. "In brief? Toxic home situation. She got healing powers. She's been feeling obligated, pressured, to heal people, for the last three years. I've convinced her to take therapy, to deal with her home issues, and to put a hold on healing for a month." I fixed Amy with a stern gaze. "And I hope you'll go over what happened today with Mrs Yamada. Okay?"

She nodded. "Oh, I will. And thank you again. Knowing I _can_, but I don't _have_ to, is a wonderful feeling."

I ruffled her hair; she giggled and ducked away from me. "Just make sure you keep attending therapy, young lady."

"Oh, I intend to," she assured me.

I turned to Theo. "Answer your question?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He gave Amy a smile. "And if you ever want to compare toxic home situations … I bet I can give you a run for your money."

"Which reminds me," I remarked. "Theo, I spoke to the Director. If you happen to feel that you need therapy, you can get it at any time. All you have to do is talk to someone in charge. Just so you know."

He blinked at me. "What, really?" A frown creased his brow. "I never really thought about that sort of thing before."

"Trust me," Amy told him, "you feel a lot better afterward."

"Huh," he mused. "I might try it."

I nodded. "And while you're at it, you want to use your new Wards status to find out if the others are back?"

He grinned and headed over to the desk; moments later, he returned. "Yeah," he reported. "They're downstairs now."

"Mission accomplished?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Not sure. I didn't ask."

"Well," I decided. "Let's go see."

* * *

The metal doors opened, allowing us into the Wards' section of the PRT base. Armsmaster was there, accompanied by Taylor and Aegis, both of them now in street clothes and carrying backpacks. Each was wearing a hastily-applied domino mask, and I grinned at the image.

"Hail the conquering heroes?" I suggested diffidently.

"Mike!" Taylor dropped her pack, and ran toward me. I met her charge and spun her around in a hug. "So how'd it go?" I asked after I put her down.

"Like clockwork," Armsmaster declared. "Miss Dallon, those bugs you have created for Weaver are a marvel. No hostages harmed, all bad guys taken down, Oni Lee in custody."

Amy flushed, pleased. "I'm glad." Taylor hugged her next; she returned the hug in full.

"Canary did a great job too," Aegis pointed out. "She softened them up just right. Gave me and Vicky plenty of time to get in there, grab the hostages, and get out."

I nodded. "I hope people told her so. She has a few self-esteem problems, you know."

Taylor grinned at me. "Yeah, like some other people you know, huh?"

I grinned back. "Mayyybe."

"Weaver," commented Armsmaster, "is definitely showing an interesting grasp of tactics where it comes to using powers in concert."

"Well done, kiddo. I knew you could do it." I held out my fist; Taylor bumped it, then bumped Amy's as well.

"Well," she admitted, "all I did was ask myself 'What would Mike tell me to do?' and it just came to me."

_Holy shit,_ I marvelled. _Taylor Hebert just gave **me** credit for her good ideas. Holy shit._ If my head swelled any more, I was going to be going up a hat size.

As it was, I couldn't contain my grin. "Wow." I chuckled. "Wow. I … I just … don't know what to say. Wow."

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "Some of you need to be back at school," he reminded them. "I've just been notified that your vehicle is currently waiting on you."

I looked at Amy. "Gonna head back to school as well?"

She shrugged. "May as well. Vicky still wants to have that talk. And after school, there's Mrs Yamada, of course. What are you gonna be doing?"

"Well," I told her casually, "I was thinking about going to play board games with a notorious supervillain. Theo, you want to come with?"

He looked from one of us to the other, as if not quite sure if I was serious, then he shrugged.

"Sure," he agreed. "It's not like it'll be the _weirdest_ thing that's happened to me today."

* * *

End of Chapter Forty


	41. Chapter 41

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Forty-One: Winding Down

* * *

Before we left the Wards' area, Theo put on one of the domino masks that they kept in quantity, for use if the door alarm went unexpectedly. Despite the fact that I had a visitor's pass, and he was a Ward – albeit, one who had yet to figure out a name, a theme or a costume – we still had to call a PRT soldier to escort us to the secure holding cells. In the process, we had to go up in one lift, down a corridor, through a secure checkpoint, and down in another lift.

"Lost yet?" I asked Theo with a grin, as we got out of the lift.

"Almost," he admitted. "You've been down here before?"

"Once or twice," I confirmed. "Which reminds me." I turned to the guard who was escorting us. "Okay to take a detour?"

"Where to, sir?" he asked.

"Lung's cell," I replied. "I want to have a bit of a chat with him."

"I'm not certain that you're cleared for that, sir," he objected.

"Call and ask," I invited him. "But just so you know, I helped put him there."

"That does not automatically clear you to visit him, sir, but I will check now," the guard told me. He turned away; I heard murmuring through his faceplate, although I couldn't make out the words.

Theo turned to me. "You helped capture _Lung?"_ he whispered, looking rather impressed.

I shrugged. "Weaver did the capturing. I did the running away. Though it did get fairly fraught." I pressed at the side of my stab vest. "Push here."

Tentatively, he pushed in at the vest, and frowned when it gave. "Is that supposed to happen?"

"That's a stab vest," I explained. "Lung hit me, and smashed the plates on that side. I haven't had a chance to replace it yet. Or figured out a way to explain it to the company without telling them that I went up against a supervillain. It might invalidate my life insurance or something."

Theo looked a little green; he was saved from having to answer by the guard.

"Sir, I've been told that you are authorised to visit Lung. Come this way."

=/=

_Taylor and Amy got out of the car, and entered the gates of Arcadia. Amy checked her watch. "Lunch will be over in ten minutes," she noted. "Our timing is good."_

"_Great," Taylor pretended to complain. "We save the day, then we have to go back to class."_

_Amy put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "You were awesome. You really were."_

_Taylor slid her own arm around Amy's waist, and returned the pressure. "Says the girl who built a bug that talks."_

"_You said it looks funny. __**Mike**__ said other bugs would laugh at it," Amy protested, albeit with a wide grin on her face._

"_All of this is true," Taylor admitted. "But it's still very, very cool." She let go of Amy and turned to share a fist-bump with her. "See you after school?"_

"_Definitely," Amy assured her. "See you then." She hurried off; several bugs went with her._

_Taylor found that she couldn't stop smiling as she went to get a drink of water before the bell rang. Deep in the back of her mind, when the day started, had been the tiny doubt that she could only succeed with Mike helping her. But she had proven otherwise, in no uncertain terms, and Mike had been altogether unsurprised at how well she and Amy had done. Proud and pleased, but unsurprised. He'd had__**confidence**__ in her, in the two of them. It was a heady feeling._

=/=

Lung looked up as I stepped out of the airlock into the outer section of the cell. I'd told Theo to wait outside; he could, of course, observe the conversation on the cell monitors. I also knew that the conversation would be recorded, which was my intent.

"You have returned," the villain observed, in his accented English.

"I have indeed," I replied lightly. "Have you been thinking about what I said, last time I visited?"

A frown settled on his face; he took a moment to answer. "I have. I am not yet sure that it is the right course for me."

"That's fair," I acknowledged. "But, just so you know, Bakuda has shown interest in working for the cause. Making really big bombs, of course, is what she actually wants to do, and we're going to give her the chance."

He grimaced, then. "I am not surprised. She will do what she will do."

"This is true," I agreed. "But also just so you know? Oni Lee took the Mayor's family hostage today, to try to get you freed."

He stared at me, his eyes slitted. "And yet, I am still in this cell."

"You are," I agreed. "And he's in another one. They took him down without losing a single hostage. So the ABB's entirely without parahuman leadership, right now."

"So you came to gloat, after all." His voice was almost unnaturally calm; I could almost hear the rage bubbling under the surface.

"Nope," I told him. "There was a gang war this morning. The Merchants and the Empire against the ABB. Once I had a word with Kaiser, he backed off, and the Merchants were taken down pretty hard after that. So basically all the gangs are on the back foot, right now."

Lung snorted. "You 'had a word' with Kaiser. I do not believe that."

"Believe it or not," I replied with a shrug. "It happened. The Merchants and the ABB are basically finished, and the Empire's trying to figure out what happens next. Brockton Bay is _changing,_ Lung. The_world_ is changing. Are you going to get on top, or get trodden under? Your choice."

I could almost see the flames flickering in his eyes as he regarded me. This had to be galling him on a very deep level; to have terms dictated to him by someone that he regarded as weaker, unfit to lead.

Well, I couldn't help that.

"And if I do not choose your way?" he growled.

"Then the PRT gets their wish, and you go to the Birdcage," I replied. "Bakuda keeps working for us, of course."

His expression became somewhat more tense. "You would dispose of me, but keep _her_ to work for you?" he spat.

I waited for a moment, until I had his full attention. "It's all about who's _willing_ to work with us, and for us," I reminded him. "If you can't see that, then we can't use you. If you're willing to put your pride aside, then you stay out of the Birdcage, and when the time comes, we'll call on you to step up and fight."

"And that is it?" he growled. "Just fight?"

"According to _orders,"_ I amended. "Orders will be given. Orders you will be expected to follow. But when it comes time to fight, we will expect you to fight like only you can fight."

"_Orders."_ The tone of his voice told me what he thought of being ordered to do anything.

I shrugged, lightly. "Orders."

"And who will be giving these orders?" he retorted. "You, for whom knowledge is such power?"

I was impressed; I hadn't known he was capable of such sarcasm. "No," I admitted. "Strategies and tactics will be worked out. Orders regarding them will be passed on by people who can do it better than me. Far better than me. I'm just the big picture guy. The really big picture guy."

His eyes narrowed. "And is recruiting me part of your 'big picture'?"

"Basically, yes," I agreed. "I'd be stupid not to try to get you on side."

That got him; I saw him blink. "I will think on this," he growled.

"Don't take too much more time," I advised him. "Gonna have to make a decision sooner or later. Or it'll be made _for_ you."

He didn't answer; I hit the button beside the airlock. The inner door hissed open, and I stepped inside.

=/=

_"Dad!"_

_David Laborn was not a man who hugged people, not even his children. But when he saw his daughter, he opened his arms, and she allowed him to embrace her, however briefly._

_"Got your text," he told his son gruffly. "Thanks."_

_Brian nodded, leaning on the doorframe. "Aisha told me there were only eight of them," he teased his father. "What happened to your arm? Losing a step, old man?"_

_David saw the half-grin, and knew that his son was gently pulling his leg; eight on one odds were not to be sneezed at, even with those ABB shitheels. Ignoring the bandage on his arm, he shaped up to his son, feinting a jab or two._

_"You want to see who's losing a step?" he challenged. "Put on the gloves, let's go a couple of rounds."_

_Brian grinned more widely, shaking his head. "No thanks," he demurred. "I think I'll pass today. Just thought I'd bring the troublemaker back around."_

_Aisha didn't respond to that, verbally at least. But she gave him the finger behind her back._

_David cuffed her upside the head, but lightly. "Hey now. The boy got his friends together to go find you," he chided her. "Show a little respect, all right?"_

_Brian blinked. "What?"_

_His father frowned. "What do you mean, what?"_

"_What was that about respect?"_

_David shrugged. "Was I talking about respect? I must've been talking about how young folks these days don't respect their elders."_

"_Yeah, yeah, heard it before. Anyway, Dad, I gotta roll. See you around."_

_The older man nodded. "Sure. And thanks."_

_Brian looked over his shoulder. "For what?"_

_David looked slightly puzzled. "Not sure. Just felt it was something I should say."_

"_Well, whatever it was for, you're welcome." Brian frowned, shrugged, and closed the door._

_The sofa springs creaked as David lowered himself on to the cushions. He sighed, lifted his feet on to the stool, and picked up the remote._

_The TV flared to life once more; in the kitchen, the fridge door opened and then closed, unheard and unseen by its owner._

_As she slathered butter on a piece of bread, Aisha Laborn grinned. __**These powers **_**rock.**

=/=

As we traversed the corridor toward Riley's cell, Theo turned to me. "Mr Allen?"

"Call me Mike, Theo. What's on your mind?"

"Tay – I mean, Weaver says you know a whole lot of stuff. Kayden said you knew that I'd triggered, by what I did with that house. So you know stuff about me, right?"

"I know some stuff," I agreed. "Not everything, but some. Why?"

"If you knew what powers I was gonna get, do you know what name I should take?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Surely that's something you need to work out for yourself."

"Yeah," he conceded with a half-hearted shrug. "But … I'm open to suggestions?"

I sighed. "'Should' is a really big word. Kaiser thought you 'should' grow up hating everyone who's different to you. Endbringers 'should' never have started attacking people." I met his eyes. "You've had people telling you what you 'should' do for the last fifteen years. So I'm not going to. But … "

"But?"

I smiled slightly. "If you want to divorce your heroic identity thoroughly from your father's gang, I would suggest researching the Nazi movement. Look through the mythologies of those religions and peoples they hated most, and see if you can't find anything to do with shaping something out of unliving material."

"I, uh -" He looked a little daunted. "That sounds like a lot of work."

"Do you want a name that's all your own?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"Then that's how you do it. Hard work. Otherwise, if you let someone else pick the name for you, you'll maybe wonder someday if you couldn't have made a better choice."

He looked at me suspiciously. "I bet you know what name I'm going to pick anyway."

I tried to look innocent; I doubted that he was fooled, even for an instant. "I know what name you _might_ pick."

"So tell me!"

I shook my head. "You might pick that name. Or you might surprise me, and pick another one that fits just as well. The final decision is yours. I am _not_ going to make it for you."

"What if I pick a stupid name?"

I nodded, conceding the possibility. "I'm willing to bet that someone on the team will let you know if it sounds stupid."

"I bet they would, too." He nodded toward the door where the guard was waiting patiently for us. "Who's through there?"

"Let's go see." I led the way.

=/=

"_Ames, wait up."_

_Amy turned at her sister's voice. "Hey, Vicky. I heard you did good at the Mayor's house."_

_Vicky grinned. "Yeah. I love doing that sort of thing. Though it was a lot easier than it might have been, with Weaver and Canary on point."_

_Something about Vicky's tone caught Amy's ear. "Still don't trust her?"_

_Vicky grimaced. "She might just have been what let us get the jump on those guys today – but she did it by messing with their heads, using a kids' song. What if what she did is permanent? What if they never get over what she did to them?"_

"_You don't like the idea that a bunch of criminals might be less violent in future?" asked Amy carefully._

"_I don't like it that they had their brains overridden by the same girl who was going to the Birdcage for making her boyfriend cut off his … ugh."_

_Amy sighed. "I know Mike told you what happened with Paige's boyfriend. So you can't really blame her for that."_

_Vicky glanced around; instinctively, so did Amy. No-one seemed to be eavesdropping. "Ames … can I tell you a secret?"_

_Amy smiled uncertainly. "I thought I knew all your secrets by now."_

"_Never told anyone this one," Vicky told her. "Not even Mom."_

_Amy's eyes widened slightly. "Wow, okay." She took a deep breath. "I'm listening."_

_Vicky crossed her arms. "I'm scared of mind control. Scared of being made to do something, feel something, against my will. I'm strong, tough, sure. But if someone ever got inside my head, changed the way I think or feel about something, none of my powers would be able to do jack about it. And the idea of that fucking terrifies me."_

_Amy stared at her sister. "I never knew that."_

_Vicky shrugged, hunching her shoulders a little. "It's why I like to hit people first and hardest. Just in case."_

"_Hey, come here." Amy opened her arms, wrapping them around Victoria._

_The blonde relaxed into the hug, laying her head on Amy's shoulder. "You'll be late for class."_

_Amy made a rude noise. "Screw class. You're my sister."_

_Vicky grinned and hugged Amy back. "Thanks, sis."_

"_Any time."_

=/=

Riley looked around as the airlock door opened. Her face lit up like a sunrise, and she jumped to her feet. "Mike!"

"Riley, how you doing?" I stepped forward to allow Theo to come through. "Riley, this is Theo; Theo, meet Riley."

"Uh, hi," mumbled Theo.

"Hi, Theo!" Riley frowned slightly. "You're not one of the Wards … are you?"

"He is now," I told her, then nodded at the game pieces scattered on the floor. "So what are you doing there?"

"Oh, trying to play a two player game by myself," she confessed. "I got bored, and you usually don't get here for hours … oh wow, you're early!" Her face brightened, then fell. "Does this mean you'll be leaving early, too?"

"Not if I don't have to," I assured her. "I'll probably be needing a lift, so I'll be putting _that_ off as long as possible." I stepped forward and watched the bars and perspex wall slide apart, to allow Theo and myself entry. "So yeah, decided to come on down and play some board games. You been taking good care of them?"

"Sure," she told me. "I've got everything stacked up nice and neat." Dropping to her knees, she began putting the pieces back into the box.

Theo, apart from a glance over his shoulder as the perspex and bars slid together once more, seemed more curious about the contents of the cell. He eyed the folding table, with the magazines and the game boxes on it, as well as the chair. Apart from the cushioned concrete bench, they were the only furnishings in the cell.

"You've, uh, got a few games here," he commented diffidently.

"Oh yeah, Mike brought them in," Riley informed him cheerfully. "They're a lot of fun to play. Are you going to be playing too?"

"Oh, uh, sure," Theo agreed. "If you don't mind … ?"

"Of course I don't mind, silly!" She beamed at him. "Can we play the racing car game first, Mike?"

I sat down on the bench and scooted the table closer to me. "Sounds like a plan, kiddo."

Theo sat down so that he had access to the table as well. He seemed distracted, as though he was working something out. "Uh, Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, you said we'd be playing board games with a notorious supervillain. Is this … " He trailed off, apparently noticing my dawning look of horror.

Silence fell in the cell. Riley shot me a betrayed look.

I put my hand to my forehead. "Oh shit. Sorry, Riley. It sounded funny at the time."

Her lower lip trembled. "I … do you think that I'm still a supervillain, Mike? Do you think that I'm still Bo-"

"No," I snapped, then moderated my tone. "No, I don't think that. I don't think that at all."

She stared at me, eyes huge and shiny with unshed tears. "I thought you were my _friend,_ Mike. I thought you _liked_ me. _Trusted_ me."

I stood up from the bench, moved over to Riley, and knelt beside her, to bring my face down to her level. "I _do_ like you, Riley," I assured her again. "I _do_ trust you. How could I not? You saved my life. Yes, I made a stupid joke, and I apologise for doing it. I was wrong."

"You mean that?" Her voice was tremulous, on the edge of tears.

"I mean it," I told her. "I'll never make that joke again, I promise. I'm sorry."

Her arms went around my neck, and I hugged her carefully. I felt her eyes leaking tears where her face was pressed into my shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was muffled. "No-one ever says sorry to me."

Gently, I patted her on the back. "Well, I do," I declared. "When I screw up, I'm the one who says sorry. Not someone else."

She sniffled into my shoulder; I reflected that I would be lucky to get the shirt back intact, after Riley's body fluids had gotten on to it. But that wasn't something I was worried about, right then. I had abused her trust, however mildly, and it was up to me to make it right.

When she let go of me, I loaned her my handkerchief to blow her nose on, and then we sat down again. "Introductions," I stated firmly. "Both of you know me. Riley, this is Theo. Son of Kaiser."

Riley's eyes widened slightly at this. "Wow, really?" she asked.

"Trust me," I told her dryly, "he's nothing like his father. Theo, this is Riley. She used to be the supervillain known as Bonesaw, but she's not that person any more." I looked at them both meaningfully, then showed Theo the scar on the side of my neck. "I know that because she and Dragon removed a Bakuda bomb from just under the base of my skull. Without the munchkin, I wouldn't be here today."

"Wow, holy crap," Theo blurted. I winced, waiting for some ill-advised comment, but he went on, "you got to work with _Dragon?_ How cool was _that?"_

Riley smiled; the expression was a little damp, but it was a genuine smile. "Pretty damn cool, actually. She's really, really switched-on."

I tried, and failed, to hide a snort. Both children looked at me. "Uh, something funny just occurred to me," I told them, and indeed it had. "So, we gonna play a game?"

Riley grinned and began to set the board up. "I am gonna _so_ wipe the board with you two," she declared.

I shot a sideways grin at Theo; thus encouraged, he gave her a challenging look. _"Bring_ it."

=/=

"_Hey, Amy. A little help?"_

"_What? … oh." Amy looked down at the two bugs that had crawled out of her book bag. They were eminently familiar to her, one being a vox-bug and the other a spy-bug. Scooping them up, she held them in her cupped hand, so as to conceal them from passers-by. "Taylor? What's up?"_

_The vox-bug made a very realistic imitation of a throat-clearing noise. "I, uh, sort of got lost. I'm supposed to get to the Physics lab, and I'm fairly certain it's not where I am."_

"_Well, where __**are**__ you?" asked Amy pragmatically._

"_Um, north side, east wing. Third floor."_

"_Oh, no __**wonder. **__You need the west wing, second floor. About halfway along."_

"_Ah, right." The bug even managed to sound embarrassed. "Thanks a bunch."_

"_You're welcome. See you later." Amy smiled as she carefully tucked the bugs back into her bag._

"_Who are you talking to?" Vicky's voice came from right behind her; Amy jumped, just a little._

_She turned and glared at her sister. "Jeez, frighten me half to death, why don't you?"_

_Vicky chuckled. "Serves you right for not paying attention. Were you talking to someone, or just thinking out loud? Because you __**know**__ how much trouble we'll get in if we get caught using our phones to call people." As opposed to receiving emergency calls, she meant._

_Amy shook her head. "I was talking to Weaver. Via bugs."_

"_Dean told me a bit about those bugs you and Weaver have been using," Vicky noted. "Pretty damn impressive, was the phrase he used."_

_Amy smiled. "I just make 'em. She uses them like she was born to it." She eyed Vicky dubiously. "Speaking of Dean, why are you here instead of with him?"_

_Vicky rolled her eyes. "I needed to speak to you," she confided. "I meant to last period, but we got sidetracked."_

"_About Weaver, right?" asked Amy, with an absolute certainty in her gut._

"_About Weaver and you, yeah," her sister confirmed. "I need to know what's going on between you two."_

_Amy frowned. "What do you mean, what's going on? __**Nothing's **__going on between me and Weaver. We're __**friends**__."_

"_You've moved out of home," Vicky pointed out. "You're taking therapy. You've stopped healing people. You're getting around with the Wards, with Weaver, instead of with New Wave, where you're supposed to be. What's going __**on**__?"_

_Amy heaved a sigh. "I've got problems. I didn't know I __**had **__problems, or at least how bad they were, until that day at the bank. You know the one."_

_"The robbery, right?' asked Vicky. "Where you were talking to that Security guy."_

_"Where he walked into the bank and walked me out, just before it happened," Amy corrected her. "After that, he told me about my problems, in more detail than I had known about, and arranged to help me with them. Part of it was getting therapy with Mrs Yamada, part of it was moving out, and part of it was putting a hold on my healing."_

"_Wait, wait, wait," Vicky told her, holding up both hands. "This guy's cropping up an awful lot these days. He was at the PRT building before we took down Coil, he got Canary out of going to the Birdcage, and now he's giving you lifestyle advice? Who the fuck __**is**__ this guy?"_

_Amy bit her lip. "I … I can't tell you that." She __**wanted**__ to tell Vicky what she knew, wanted to share it with her. But she didn't know what the consequences of that act would be._

_Vicky stared at her. "Can't, or won't?"_

"_I'm sorry, Vicky." Amy shook her head. "All I can tell you is that what he told me is one hundred percent accurate, and that what he's got me doing is helping me. A lot."_

"_We've always told each other everything," Vicky pointed out. "Can't you help me understand just a bit?"_

_Amy took a deep breath. "There were really bad things that were going to happen. Some of those bad things were going to happen to me, and some of them to you. Mike is making sure that they don't happen at all." She put her hands on Vicky's shoulders. "I'm sorry, but I really can't tell you any more."_

_Reaching up, Vicky took Amy's hands in hers, and squeezed them gently. "Okay, but I'm gonna want more details at some point. And if you ever need me for anything, just call. You know that."_

_Amy mustered a smile. "Of course. You're my sister."_

"_Damn right I am." Vicky hugged Amy closely; the biokinetic rested her head on her sister's shoulder for a moment. "Now hurry up, you need to get to class."_

"_Okay. Talk to you later." One last squeeze, and they hurried in different directions._

=/=

"Booyah!" crowed Riley, holding her hands together above her head in triumph. "And who's the winner? Me. Who's the champion? That's me too!"

I shook my head, grinning. "I have to admit, I have never seen anyone win so thoroughly before. Mind you, you had about one point left on your tyres and your engine. You really overclocked your car to come in first, didn't you?"

Riley grinned back. "And that's how you win. Slowpoke."

Theo rolled his eyes. "That, and driving me off the track, back on the turn before last."

Riley stuck out her tongue at him. "I didn't drive you off the track. I sort of got in your way, so you had to go around me. It wasn't _my_ fault that you crashed because of that."

I snorted. "Seems to me that you enjoyed smashing us in this game altogether too much."

Riley cupped her hand behind her ear. "What's that I hear? An old man complaining about being too slow?"

Theo was chuckling now, and I had to smile as well. "Want to watch the trash talk, kiddo, or we might just pick a game where I can beat the pants off of you." I tapped one of the board games. "Like this one."

Riley rolled her eyes. "Just because you know more words than I do," she pretended to complain; the words were one thing, but the grin on her face and her cheerful tone was quite another.

I scratched my chin, thinking. "Okay, how about this. You two team up. Both of you against me. You can trade letters and everything. Either of you wins, both of you win."

Riley looked from me to Theo and back again. "What, you mean it?" Her expression was positively gleeful.

"Sure I mean it," I confirmed. "It should be fun. Theo?"

Theo hesitated. "Uh, if it's okay with you, Riley? I don't want to hold you back or anything."

Riley made a rude noise. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen. You're older than me. And you're pretty smart, I can tell. Let's _own_ this game."

I finished packing away the racing game and put it on the bench; as we started setting up the next game, I grinned to myself. The point of playing these games with Riley wasn't to win. It was for everyone to have fun. And even Theo was starting to come out of his shell on occasion.

Positive social interaction, I mused, could be found in the _oddest_ places.

=/=

_Amy spotted the bugs circling her before she saw Taylor. She smiled and moved toward her friend; they bumped fists in greeting._

"_So how did you enjoy your first day?" she asked as they headed for the gates._

"_Different," allowed Taylor. "New. Interesting. No-one knows me, but most everyone's friendly. It feels weird."_

_Amy nodded sympathetically. "With all the shit that happened to you at Winslow, I'm not surprised that you're feeling a bit off-balance here. You're __**used**__ to bad things happening."_

_Taylor shrugged helplessly. "Yeah, exactly. I mean, shit, I've made __**friends**__ here. On my first day, even. It's like Bizarro world." She spotted someone in the crowd. "Oh, hey, wait a second."_

_Amy blinked as Taylor darted off, then reappeared, more or less dragging someone along. "Amy, this is Chris. I met him in home room this morning. Chris, have you met Amy?"_

_Panacea came face to face with Kid Win, and they both had to do their best not to burst out laughing._

_Amy cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah, I've met Chris a few times. How you doing?"_

"_Oh, so-so," Chris replied, working to keep a smile from taking over his face. "So you know Taylor, do you, Amy?"_

"_Yeah, we're pretty good friends," Amy confirmed. "She and her dad are putting me up for a while."_

"_That's nice of you," Chris told Taylor. "Well, I gotta bounce. See you girls on the flip side."_

_He moved off, and Taylor looked at Amy. "See?" she asked. "We were sitting next to each other in home room, and he just said hi. That doesn't really happen to me."_

_Amy shrugged. "He seems like a nice guy," she agreed. "Maybe you should ask him out sometime?"_

_Taylor shook her head. "No, I don't think so."_

"_What? Why?" Amy frowned. "Is there something wrong with him?"_

"_Three reasons," Taylor pointed out, keeping her voice low. "One, he probably already has a girlfriend. Two, I'm a cape and he's not. Things would get way too complicated. Three, I'm not really looking for a boyfriend, you know?"_

_Amy sighed. "I suppose." She grabbed Taylor's arm and hugged it against her side. "Well, I'm still happy that you're making new friends."_

_**I hope I'm there when Chris unmasks to her,**__ she told herself. __**I **_**so **_**want a picture of her face.**_

"_Me too," Taylor agreed; Amy was a little confused, until she realised that Taylor was responding to her comment, rather than her thought._

"_Oh hey, there's Dad," commented Taylor. "Let's go see what he wants."_

"_Sure, okay," Amy agreed, and they headed that way._

* * *

_Danny Hebert leaned against the car and scanned the mass of students crowding out through the gates. He became aware of a large bug, of a type he thought he recognised from Amy's experiments in the basement, hovering in front of his face. It zoomed off again, and then just a moment later, he spotted Taylor pushing her way through the crowd._

"_Dad, how are you?" Taylor greeted him, going for a hug. He squeezed her back, holding her close for a moment._

"_I'm doing good, kiddo," he told her. "Amy, how are you?"_

_The frizzy-haired girl, his daughter's best friend, smiled back at him. "I'm doing really well, Mr Hebert, uh, Danny."_

"_Excellent," he declared. "Well, with that gang war thing this morning, everything's all up in the air, so there's no work getting done at the Dockworkers' Association. So I've decided to take the afternoon off, and give you girls a lift to where you need to be. Amy, you're going to see Mrs Yamada, right?"_

_Amy nodded. "Yes, please."_

"_Ames! __**There**__ you are!" Everyone looked up; a blonde girl was swooping in over the crowd. A moment later, she came in for a neat landing beside Amy._

_Danny blinked. " … wow. You don't see that every day." He held out his hand. "Glory Girl, I presume?"_

_Reflexively, she shook it. "Yes. And you are … ?"_

"_Oh. Sorry." He shook his head, grinning self-deprecatingly. "Danny Hebert. Have you met my daughter Taylor? No? Well, Mike Allen asked me if we could put your sister up for a while. I'm just here to give them a lift."_

"_Mike Allen, huh?" repeated the teen superhero. "I keep hearing that name. Where do __**you**__ know him from?"_

"_Oh, uh, he was doing security at Winslow, and stopped some girls who were pulling some really nasty pranks on Taylor," Danny explained._

_Glory Girl glanced at Taylor for a moment, then back at Danny. " … right," she responded. "Well, okay." She turned to Amy. "I'm going to head home now," she told her sister. "You need anything, just call."_

_Amy hugged her; Glory Girl returned it. "Of course I will," Amy told her._

_Glory Girl nodded, then gave Danny and Taylor another glance. "Nice to have met you."_

_In another instant, she was airborne, cutting through the sky above Arcadia._

" … _well," muttered Danny. "That was just a little intimidating."_

_Amy smiled reassuringly. "She means well."_

_Danny nodded. "I see. Well, still want that lift?"_

"_Yes, please."_

=/=

Riley looked at Theo. "Can I ask you a question?"

The pudgy boy glanced at me; I leaned back slightly, as if distancing myself from the situation. He shrugged slightly. "Uh, sure?"

Riley's hands never paused in their shuffling of the cards for the game we were about to play. Her hands were nimble, dexterous. I wasn't quite sure that she wasn't stacking the deck. "So … what's it like … being Kaiser's son?"

For a long moment, Theo didn't answer. He looked down at the floor, then at the ceiling. Finally, he looked at me. I shrugged slightly, and gestured him toward Riley.

"It's like … being on a train with no brakes," he told her reluctantly. "You've got no choice about what's going on, and you're going places you don't want to be."

He paused, then went on, with more animation. "He … he crushes your will. If you go against him, he comes at you, with perfect logic and perfect assurance, and he beats down your argument and ties you into knots. Over and over again. He's very good at doing that to people. Talking them into doing what _he_ wants, but making them think that it was their idea in the first place." He ran down, staring at the table.

Riley put down the cards, slipped out of her chair, and went around the table to him. Wrapping her arms around him as best she could, she held him close. Theo looked somewhat startled, but he slowly returned the hug.

"Wow," he muttered, after she let him go. "What was _that_ for?"

Resuming her seat, Riley started shuffling the cards again, as though nothing untoward had happened. "You're not alone, Theo," she told him firmly, beginning to deal the cards. "Just remember that. You're not alone. Never alone."

I very carefully hid my smile as I picked up my cards. _Thank you, Riley._

=/=

_Danny chose strawberry fudge for himself, and Taylor picked double choc; they took their ice creams over to a bench and sat down facing the ocean, the afternoon sun warm on their backs._

_"So, first day in the Wards, and first day at Arcadia, huh?" asked Danny. "A double header."_

_Taylor took a bite of her ice cream, savouring the taste as she watched the seagulls riding the onshore breeze._

_"Yeah," she replied lazily. "Amy's bugs rocked. And I had fun at school too. Made friends."_

_"Well, that's excellent," he told her. "I didn't see much mention of you on the news, but I saw your bug swarms flying here and there. From the way the news guys were reacting, you really made a big impression on them."_

_"Amy had a big part in that," Taylor pointed out. "If she hadn't created those relay bugs for me, there would be no way I'd have the coverage on the city that I do." She took another bite of ice cream and sighed, relaxing just that little bit more._

_"Plus of course the ketamine wasps and the rest of your menagerie," Danny noted._

_"Yeah, those too," Taylor agreed, leaning back with her eyes closed. "Amy's really awesome. She's fun to hang with, and her bugs are pretty cool." She waited a beat, then added, "And I met a nice boy at school, too."_

_She caught Danny in the middle of taking another bite of his ice cream; he sputtered and choked, and nearly lost the whole ice-cream._

_"That was __**mean**__," he told her sternly, after regaining his composure._

_"Sorry," she replied contritely, although a twinkle in her eye suggested that she wasn't as sorry as she was making out to be._

_He eyed her suspiciously, then decided to drop it. "So, a boy, huh? A nice boy, even?"_

_"Yeah," she agreed. "He's in my home room. His name's Chris."_

_"Well, I knew that going to Arcadia was going to give you a fresh chance at making friends, but that's pretty damn fast, I have to say," Danny responded, his own eyes twinkling mischievously. "So when do I get to meet him?"_

_Somewhat to his disappointment, Taylor did not inhale her ice-cream, as he had. She did look a little startled, which he decided to count as a win. "Dad," she protested. "He's not my __**boy**__friend. He's just a__**friend**__. We've said hi a few times, is all. And Amy knows him, and thinks he's a nice guy."_

_"Might want to check with her before you think about asking him out," Danny advised her. "Make sure you're not treading on her territory. Or someone else's."_

_"__**Dad**__!" she repeated, a little more loudly, her cheeks turning pink. "I'm not going to be asking him out. Even if Amy thinks I should."_

_"I'm __**joking**__," he assured her, ruffling her hair. "Not that I'm saying you should, but why have you chosen not to?"_

_She wrinkled her nose at him. "You're mean," she accused him, somewhat hypocritically. "But have you ever seen a cape sitcom where a date between a cape and a normal went __**well**__? Or __**any**__ kind of a relationship between a cape and a normal?"_

_"Hm," Danny mused, working on the rest of his ice-cream. "You realise that they play most of that for drama, or laughs. There's got to be situations where capes and normals can have an equitable relationship without the powers getting in the way."_

_"Yeah, well, maybe," Taylor observed. "But in any case, not really interested in dating. Right now, he's an acquaintance. Friends, I'll be good with. Boyfriend? Not right now."_

_Danny smiled. "And trust me, kiddo, I'm perfectly okay with that."_

_They fell silent then, settling back to enjoy their ice-creams and spend time with one another._

=/=

_Jessica Yamada sipped at her tea. "So then you healed her?"_

_Amy breathed deeply, inhaling the aroma of her own tea. The armchair was comfortable, the lighting turned down enough that there was no glare in the room. On the wall, the clock ticked slowly, steadily._

_"I healed her," she confirmed. "It wasn't hard; a simple penetrating trauma, probably from a switchblade. It had missed all the major blood vessels, but she still would have died in another hour or so, if we hadn't gotten to her. Maybe sooner."_

_"And how do you feel about that?"_

"_About healing her, or about the fact that I wasn't supposed to be healing anyone, but I still healed her anyway?"_

_Mrs Yamada's voice was neutral, inviting Amy to express herself. "Whichever one."_

_Amy took a deep breath. "When we found her, her brother was yelling at me to heal her. It was like I'd never stopped. The pressure was back; heal this one, heal that one, if you don't heal them, you're a bad person. But Mike told him to shut up. Told me that of course they'd __**like **__me to heal her. But that it was my choice, and my choice alone. He meant it. So I thought about it, and made my choice."_

"_Do you regret healing her? Breaking the no-healing rule?"_

_Amy shook her head. "I don't regret it. She needed healing. I had a look at their first aid kit; it was adequate, but insufficient to deal with the wound that the girl had suffered. They could maybe have kept her alive until she reached a hospital, and even then … I don't know. Her chances would have been less than fifty percent. A lot less, I think. So in that particular case, I did the right thing, rule or no rule."_

_Mrs Yamada nodded. "I see. Do you foresee any difficulties in sticking to the rule in future?"_

"_I don't know. I don't think so." Amy took a drink of tea, thought for a moment. "Having this power, it's good. I can do a lot of good in the world. But I also need to be allowed to choose when and where I use it. I used to think that the very fact of having my power __**obliged**__ me to use it to help people. These last few days have opened my eyes; I've gotten a better perspective on things. I __**can**__, but I don't __**have**__ to."_

_A smile. "And how does that make you feel?"_

_Amy returned it. "Good, actually. Free. Like a load's been lifted from my shoulders." She took a deep breath, worked her shoulders as if an actual, physical, burden had been taken from them. "Wow."_

"_Excellent." Mrs Yamada leaned forward, put her teacup down on the table beside her. "Now, we'll return to this topic from time to time – an issue this strong is not put to bed overnight – but let's talk about something else for the time being."_

"_Sure," responded Amy. "What do you want to talk about?"_

_Mrs Yamada smiled gently. "Pick one, and we'll talk about it."_

"_Um, okay. Is it all right if we talk about Vicky? She seems to be worried about me. I was wondering what I could say to her, so she wasn't worried."_

"_Why is she worried about you? What are her concerns?"_

_Amy took a deep breath. "Well, for a start, this whole therapy thing. I've moved out of home, I've stopped going out and healing people, I'm living with my best friend and her dad, I've left New Wave for the time being. All of that … I guess, it's a pretty big step to take."_

"_I imagine that it would look like that from the outside, yes," Mrs Yamada conceded. "Was it a very great step for you to take, personally?"_

"_At first, yeah," Amy admitted. "Going away from home? That's a huge wrench. Moving in with a couple of strangers, even as nice as the Heberts? Yeah, it was a pretty big step."_

"_Last night, you seemed to be getting along well with them," Mrs Yamada noted._

_Amy smiled. "Yeah. Taylor and her dad, they're nice people. Good people. They accepted me. Took me in. I run with Taylor, in the mornings. Her dad drives me to therapy, picks me up after." She studied the teacup in her hands. "I hate to say this … "_

_Mrs Yamada remained silent, waiting. Listening._

_Amy tried to think of a way to say it without sounding spiteful. Eventually, she took a deep breath._

"_Mark tries to be a father, and fails. Danny succeeds at being a father without even trying. He doesn't have powers, he's not a superhero, but he's a good man."_

_She was musing now, free-associating. "You know, it's funny. I'm attracted to Vicky, but I prefer to be with Taylor. Maybe it's because Taylor doesn't demand anything from me; she just __**is**__." She turned to Mrs Yamada. "It's not like I'm even attracted to Taylor. She's nice, I like her a lot, but the spark isn't there, you know? Does this mean I'm not really gay?"_

"_I can't answer that," Mrs Yamada told her honestly. "It may be that Taylor's just not your type. On the other hand, it may indeed mean that the forced attraction caused by Glory Girl's aura may have -"_

_She stopped, because Amy had just sat bolt upright in her chair._

"_Oh my god," Amy muttered. "Oh my god. She __**said**__ it, and I just never realised. She said it, right in front of me."_

"_Is everything all right?" the therapist enquired after a moment._

_Amy nodded. "I just got the biggest flash of 'DUH' I've ever had in my life. Like, a nova-scale flashbulb. It's about Vicky. Holy shit." She took a deep breath. "Vicky said something to me today, about being scared of mind controllers, of being mentally controlled. She basically told me that she was most scared of having her attitudes and perceptions altered, so that she thought differently and never knew it."_

_Mrs Yamada blinked. "And that's basically what she did to __**you**__, without meaning to."_

_Amy nodded. "Yeah, that's bad enough. But the flashbulb moment also gave me this; what if her powers gave her that ability __**because**__ she's scared of mind control? So it gives her the ability to screw over other peoples' minds before they can screw hers over?"_

"_Hmm," the older woman noted. "It's a very intriguing theory. One which, of course, we can't do much about. But which is worth keeping in mind for later, when we bring her into the therapy."_

"_About that," Amy ventured. "What happens, given this fear of hers, when we tell her that she's basically been doing what she's scared of the most, to me? How is she going to react? How do we break it to her?"_

_Mrs Yamada nodded. "A very cogent question. I suspect the answer is somewhere between 'not at all' and 'very, very carefully'."_

_Amy bit her lip. "I don't want to sound like I'm second-guessing you, but …"_

" … _but do I think that we should tell Mr Allen, and ask his advice?" Mrs Yamada raised an eyebrow at Amy's startled expression. "I had also thought of that. He __**does**__ seem to possess a supply of esoteric information. If you believe that he can be trusted to not spread the information around … ?"_

_Amy nodded. "I think so."_

"_Be aware," the therapist noted, "that he may simply not know. This sort of information would be useful in your therapy; surely he would have passed it on if he knew it?"_

"_Or he may simply have forgotten," Amy argued. "His memory isn't perfect."_

_Mrs Yamada nodded, conceding the point. "In any case, his insight may be useful. By all means, we can ask him. Just make sure that he knows not to talk to anyone else about it."_

_Amy smiled. "I can do that."_

=/=

When I played board games with Riley on her own, we didn't take too much time. We chatted while we made our moves, not letting our conversations slow the game down. Adding Theo to the mix as a third player changed the dynamic; he had to be apprised of the rules of the games we were playing, and the three-cornered conversation sometimes meant that minutes went between turns being taken.

Not that any of us cared; Theo was free until the morning, I didn't have any pressing engagements, and Riley was by definition not going anywhere. So we played games and had fun; just as Riley was good at the dexterity game, Theo proved to have a knack for team play, in the cooperative game.

Still and all, it was something of a surprise when the airlock door opened, and Mrs Yamada stepped through.

=/=

_Jessica Yamada didn't quite know what to expect when she requested access to the prisoner known officially as 'Bonesaw, aka Riley'. The PRT escort was a matter of course, as was the careful search of her personal items. But when she got to the cell, and stepped through the airlock, she was somewhat taken aback to see the girl herself playing a board game with Michael Allen and a masked, teenage boy._

_Allen came to his feet first. "Oh, hey, Mrs Yamada," he greeted her, then he frowned. "Weren't you with Amy?"_

"_I finished that session, Mr Allen," she replied with a smile. "Check the time."_

_He did so, and looked somewhat startled. "Jesus, it's after five. No wonder I've been getting a bit hungry. Time flies when you're having fun, all right." He paused. "Theo, Riley, meet Mrs Jessica Yamada."_

_When the perspex opened, along with the bars, he looked even more startled. The boy – Theo – also came to his feet, as did Riley._

"_Hello, Riley," she greeted the blonde child. Recalling the file she had read, and Michael's advice, she did not speak down to her, but greeted her as an equal. "I'm Jessica Yamada. Michael's asked me to come in to see you."_

"_Hello," Riley replied, stepping forward and holding out her hand to be shaken. "It's good to meet you, uh … ?"_

"_Oh, sorry," Jessica apologised. "You can call me Jessica, or Mrs Yamada, whichever makes you more comfortable."_

_Riley smiled. "I think I'll go with Mrs Yamada, for the moment. Do you think you can help me?"_

"_If you're willing to be helped," Jessica told her, "then yes, I can probably help you. But you have to want to be helped. If you don't, then I'd be wasting your time and mine." She fixed the youthful villain with a steady look. "Do you want me to try?"_

_Riley, to her credit, took her time in thinking over her answer. She glanced at Michael and Theo, who were apparently engrossed in studying the board setup. Then she looked back at Jessica._

"_Yes," she told Jessica. "I think I would like that."_

_They shook hands once more, as solemnly as any two adults closing a deal, and Riley turned to Theo and Michael. "Is that okay?" she anxiously asked the older man._

_Michael nodded. "Definitely okay," he assured her. "She's the absolute best therapist I know. If anyone can help you, she can."_

"_Good," she told him, and impulsively hugged him. "If she's a friend of yours, I can work with her."_

"_Sure she's my friend," he confirmed. "She's working with Panacea as well."_

_Riley looked a little surprised in her turn. "But Panacea's a hero."_

_Michael shrugged massively. "Doesn't mean she doesn't need therapy."_

_Theo raised his hand tentatively. "I'll probably be needing some myself, at some point," he ventured. "My dad and all, you know."_

_Jessica frowned. "Your father?"_

_Theo nodded. "Kaiser."_

"_Oh." Jessica found herself re-evaluating the boy for signs of racist attitude, and quickly found that there were none to be seen; either he had not absorbed his progenitor's poisonous ideals, or he was exceptionally good at concealing them._

"_Yeah," Michael commented dryly. "Theo here's the white sheep of the family." Riley snickered at that, and even Theo raised a weak grin. "I've gotten Director Piggot to agree to fund your therapy for Riley and Theo as well, when you can get the time, and Theo has the inclination."_

_Jessica raised both her eyebrows at that. "I hope this doesn't put too much of a drain on the PRT's discretionary budget."_

"_I believe that it's worth it," Michael stated flatly. "The Director understands this."_

"_Well, then," Jessica noted. "I look forward to working with each of you."_

"_Cool," Riley exclaimed. "Wanna play a board game with us?"_

_Jessica was taken somewhat aback. "I, uh, haven't played board games in years … "_

_Michael grinned, a warm and welcoming expression. "No time like the present. I was going to head off after one more game anyway. This one here's a cooperative game, so we can ease you into it … "_

_He moved aside, allowing her to sit down and gain access to the game table._

_**Oh well, **__she told herself, __**it's one way to get to know my patients.**_

=/=

Theo and I decided to leave after the game was over – we won, by a handy margin, thanks to Theo's inspired strategies – so as to give Mrs Yamada some alone time with Riley. The girl had rather taken to her, and considered her to be my friend, so I had little fear for the therapist's safety. However, Riley would not let us leave without giving us each a hug, and extracting a promise to come back and visit soon.

I had already intended to return, so I agreed readily enough. Theo also promised to visit; Riley's bubbly personality had apparently made an impression on him. That, and possibly the fact that she could outdo him in horror stories about father figures.

I shook hands with Mrs Yamada before I left; she had a firm, businesslike grip. When Theo and I entered the airlock, Riley was pulling out another board game; Mrs Yamada was watching with interest.

However, the real trial was waiting for us outside the secure cell; after spending such a prolonged duration in the presence of the bio-tinker villain, the guards hit us with the most stringent decontamination process that they could manage. My shirt and handkerchief were analysed to within an inch of their structural integrity, but no pathogens were located. I lost the top layer of my skin – again – as well as some of my remaining hair. Theo seemed to take it in his stride; I began to wonder exactly how hard his life had been with the Empire Eighty-Eight.

Eventually, however, we were cleared to leave; we took the elevator up to the ground floor and passed through the secure checkpoint, at which they checked our identities again. Having proven that we were who we said we were, we headed down the corridor to the lift that led down to the Wards' base.

"So yeah," I told him as we waited for the elevator, "if and when you decide to get therapy, Mrs Yamada's the one the PRT will point your way."

"She seems nice," Theo commented.

"She is," I agreed. "And she's really, really good at it."

"Has she treated you?" he wanted to know.

I chuckled. "Nope. But she has analysed me. Surprised the hell out of me. And I _knew_ she was good."

The elevator doors opened, and he got in. "Well okay," he told me. "When I know when I've got free time, I'll ask for it."

"Good man," I told him. "And good luck in the Wards." Ignoring the tentative efforts of the lift to interleave closed, I offered my hand. He shook it firmly enough, then watched as I pulled my arm back and the doors closed.

As I was walking out through the main lobby, I heard my name called. Stopping, I turned toward the reception desk. "Yes?" I asked, approaching the counter.

"Mr Michael Allen?" the lady asked, looking at a sheet of paper.

"That's me," I confirmed. Pulling out my wallet, I showed her my driver's license, then my security license for good measure.

She nodded. "Thank you, sir." From a drawer, she pulled a bulky, padded envelope, about six by four, and slid it over to me. Scrawled in marker pen on it was the following:

MICHAEL ALLEN

'SECURITY'

"Huh," I told her. "Thanks."

Stepping away from the desk, I tore open the envelope; within, I found – not altogether to my surprise – my phone, my pepper spray, and my extendible baton, each taken by Menja, and now each returned, possibly by the same person.

I could have gone back to the desk and found out who had returned them, but I didn't really care. Pulling my work belt from my bag, I stowed the baton and the pepper spray in the appropriate pouches. My phone went into my top pocket, and I put the belt back in the bag. Then I went outside to catch a bus.

Having no car – again – kind of sucked.

Fortunately, the bus stop outside the PRT building had a bus pulling up every five minutes. Unfortunately, that didn't mean that the bus I needed was going to arrive any time soon. I spent the time checking my phone for missed calls and messages; there was one of the former and three of the latter.

The call, and one of the text messages were from Gladys. The text message was asking if I was all right; I wasted no time in calling her back and assuring her that yes, I was. We spoke for a little time, before confirming a date on Saturday next.

The second text message was from Lisa, congratulating me on getting my phone back. I texted her in return: _Smartass._

The third text message was from a number I didn't recognise. But the message itself chilled my blood.

* * *

**71.6349% CHANCE END OF WORLD IN SIX MONTHS.**

**98.4193% CHANCE END OF WORLD IN TWELVE MONTHS.**

**PREPARE. NOW.**

**DINAH ALCOTT**

* * *

_Oh fuck,_ I told myself. _Oh holy fucking crap._

My timeline was now officially shot all to hell.

* * *

End of Chapter Forty-One


	42. Chapter 42

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two: the Meaning of Life

* * *

"Oh, for _fuck's _sake! You have got to be fucking _kidding_ me!"

There was a long, frozen moment as I looked up from the phone, and realised that I had just released my outburst in front of at least a dozen people, all waiting for the bus. Clearing my throat, I essayed a grin that probably looked more like a deaths-head grimace. "Uh, sorry, folks. A little … um … problem … sorrygottago."

Jumping to my feet, I dashed around the end of the bus shelter and straight back in through the doors of the PRT building. Or rather, I went to enter, but the doors didn't open.

Looking through them, into the lobby beyond, I noted that there was now a guard standing by the outer doors. Of course; it was now somewhat after five, and the doors were electronically locked. I hadn't even noticed him pressing the button to let me out.

Well, now he had to let me back _in._

I tapped on the glass; the guard turned his (her?) faceplate toward me, and shook his head. I tapped again, harder. He pointed at the door, where the hours of operation were spelled out. Eight thirty to five thirty, Monday to Friday. Nine to one, Saturday and Sunday. I checked my watch; it was five forty. And of course it was Monday.

_Fuck._

It didn't matter; I had to get in to see the Director. I tapped again; briefly, I considered showing him my phone, but it wouldn't mean much to him. He wouldn't even know who Dinah Alcott _was._

He shook his head a second time, and this time his hand rested very briefly on the taser holstered at his waist. _If you try to force your way in, sir, you **will** end up drooling on the pavement._

I nodded briefly and held up a finger. Then I flicked my phone over to Contacts and dialled the Director's number.

It rang several times, before she finally answered. She sounded harried. _"Yes, Mr Allen? What can I do for you?"_

I took a deep breath. "You can tell your guard to let me back in. I have extremely important news to share with you."

An aggravated sigh. _"Can it wait? I have several crises ongoing at the moment."_

"Trust me, Emily, you will not thank me for letting you make me wait." Using her first name was a gamble, but a fairly safe one. Hopefully, it would impress on her how serious I was.

A pause, and a creak of her chair, as if she had gone from leaning back to sitting upright. _"Is it that important?"_

"You know that meeting we had at my place? Yeah, that important."

When she spoke next, her voice had changed. Gone was the harried tone; she now sounded intent. _"I'll send word immediately."_

"Thanks. See you in a minute."

* * *

It took fifteen seconds by my watch for Emily to get into contact with the guard at the doors. I saw him look up slightly, then tilt his head as if listening. Then he looked out through the doors, at me. I held up one hand in a brief wave. _Yup, she's talking about me._

After another pause, he hit the button; the doors slid open. I went to step inside, but he stopped me once I was inside. They slid shut behind me, and there was still another set in front of me. The airlock-style setup was designed to prevent warm air from escaping during winter, but for this situation, it was also ideal for holding suspicious people until their bona fides were verified.

"Name?" he demanded.

"Michael Allen," I replied. "The Director's waiting on me."

He ignored the side comment. "Identification."

"In my pocket," I told him. "Gonna get it out. Please don't tase me."

"Go ahead," he confirmed.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and showed my ID for the second time in ten minutes. He spent more time looking at it than the girl on the counter had, pulling out my security license, as well as other cards, each of which bore the name I was using in that world.

I waited as patiently as I could. Eventually, he satisfied himself that the cards were not forgeries. Closing the wallet, he handed it back to me, and waved to the guard on the inner doors. These also slid open, and I entered, stuffing my wallet back into my pocket.

* * *

From there, it went quickly. One of the guards escorted me up in the elevator; I barely had time to appreciate the (still very cool) Tinker tech before I was being decanted on the top floor. I headed for the Director's office at a fast walk; the guard kept up, pace for pace.

The Director sat up as I entered. "Fill me in," she ordered. "Ten words or less."

I took a deep breath. "Remember Dinah Alcott?" I asked. "The precog Coil was going to kidnap?"

She frowned momentarily, then her brow cleared. "Yes, I recall her. Is this about her?"

For an answer, I fiddled with my phone, bringing up the text, then skated my phone across the desk to her. She picked it up and looked at the text. I could see the import sinking in as she read it a second and then a third time, the lines deepening on her face. Then she looked up at me. "This is accurate?"

"As ever you'll get," I assured her.

"And she's not playing some sort of prank?"

I could see that she was clutching at straws, but I kind of understood why. So I let her down gently. "Director, her power doesn't _allow_ her to lie about what she sees. Or rather, if she does, she gets headaches and her power quits on her for a while."

She laid the phone on the desk and laced her fingers over it. "She sounds like someone we need working for us."

"Oh, she is," I assured her. "But on her terms, not yours. She has certain limitations, and she will only work within those limitations. I'll talk to her on your behalf, when I get the chance."

She frowned. "You haven't spoken to her yet?"

"Nope."

Her frown deepened. "Why not?"

I shrugged. "I've been just a bit busy?"

"So are you even sure that she sent you that text?"

I paused. "Huh. Never thought of that."

Her voice was sharp. "Before we go any farther, we might want to check that little detail." She turned to her computer and clicked the screen a few times; I wasn't quite sure what she was doing. Then she got out her own phone and dialled a number that she was reading from the screen.

_Ah, of course, _I realised. _She got their number when I alerted her to the potential kidnap._

"Hello, Mrs Alcott," she responded, to whatever was said on the other end. "This is Director Emily Piggot … yes, we spoke the other day. Yes, how are you? Good, good, and how is Dinah?"

She glanced at me as she continued speaking. "Oh, she's right there? Excellent. Could you please let me speak to her? Good, thank you … hello, Dinah? This is … oh, you knew already? I'd like to ask a question … "

At that moment, my phone pinged to indicate a new text coming through. Absently, the Director clicked to open it, glanced at it, and froze. "Did you just send that text just then? Right, yes, of course you did."

She held up the phone so that I could see it. The text read, **YES I SENT THE TEXT. PUT SECURITY ON.**

I raised my eyebrows slightly, and tried not to grin. The Director looked sour, and handed the phone over. I put it to my ear. "Hey, kiddo."

The voice was young, feminine. _"Mr Allen?"_

"That's me. Thanks for the text. I'm presuming you don't have any more details about what's going to happen."

"_Sorry, not at the moment. The lady said you'd believe me."_

I grinned, that time. "Scarily competent lady, business suit, dark hair?"

"_You know her."_ It wasn't a question.

"We have an understanding. She keeps me alive, I work on saving the world. So, did you look to see when the numbers started changing?"

"_About four months' time, they start increasing. Five and a half months, fifty percent. The other numbers, you've already got."_

"But you haven't got any ideas as to what causes the sudden change in the numbers?" I was careful to not phrase it as a question that would cause her problems. While I was waiting for her answer, I tried to envisage the curve in my head. It didn't look regular at all.

"_Sorry, no."_

"Do, uh, do you have any questions left for the day?"

"_Some. Do you want to ask one?"_

"A couple, actually. But only if you're good with it."

"_She said you'd ask the right questions. So okay, sure."_

I grimaced. I'd only just now thought to ask any questions at all. "Right. Um. First question. If I took absolutely no further part in the preparation to save the world, went and hid in a cave somewhere, how would we go?"

She paused. _"Inevitable conflict would be joined in eighteen months, not one year. But we'd lose."_

My heart seemed to be racing in my chest. "And if I stick around, we win?"

"_Current numbers are at thirty-two point six four three seven percent, but slowly rising. As opposed to zero point one three four one percent, if you are not present."_

I breathed deeply, trying to calm myself. It didn't seem to be working. "One more question. Do I survive the conflict, if I do what I have to do, to save the world?"

Her voice was very sad. _"I'm sorry. Two point three six one four percent chance that you survive."_

I couldn't get my breath. Director Piggot was staring at me, eyes narrowed. "I … right … got it," I gasped. I couldn't breathe. _Why can't I breathe?_ I dropped the receiver.

"Are you all right, Mr Allen?" the Director asked, pushing herself out of her chair.

I slumped down into mine. "Be … all right … " _In a second_, I meant to add.

I didn't _have_ a second.

Everything went black, as I felt myself falling out of my chair.

=/=/=

_Piggot came around the desk, fast, and dropped to her knees beside Mike Allen. Pushing the chair aside, she flopped him on to his back with the help of the guard. He was barely breathing, his eyes rolled back in his head. She checked for a pulse; it was irregular, not really there at all. Sweat sheened his skin._

"_Fuck!" she snarled. "Heart attack!" **Or something that Bonesaw did.**_

_But Allen was the bio-tinker's greatest proponent in the PRT building; it made exactly zero sense for her to infect him with something that killed him. And in any case, the decontamination would have dealt with it … **I'll go with 'heart attack' for the moment.**_

"_Chest compressions," she ordered the guard. "I'll call for assistance."_

"_Going to need to get his vest off first," the guard told her; she looked down at where he had Allen's shirt open, the stab vest underneath. That was not going to allow chest compressions._

* * *

_They tore his shirt in getting it open fast enough; that couldn't be helped. The vest was secured with side fastenings, she took the left, he took the right. As she worked, she could not help but look at the colour of Allen's face. She didn't like it, not at all._

_They lifted the front piece away and the guard began his chest compressions; Emily pushed herself to her feet. She turned to walk around the desk, and froze._

_Seated in her chair was a woman with pale skin and dark hair, dressed in a smart business suit. She recognised the intruder at once; she had arrived with the Triumvirate to the meeting with Allen on Friday night. As to why she was here …_

"_Help him!" she snapped. "Use those portals of yours to get him to medical attention!"_

"_Ma'am?" asked the guard._

"_Not you," she told him. "Keep going." She turned back to the woman in her chair. "Well?"_

_The woman stood up. "Riley," she stated calmly. "She saved his life once; she can do it again."_

_Emily scowled. "Last time was a desperation measure -"_

"_And this time isn't?" asked the woman. She fixed Emily with a steady gaze. "He is essential, somehow, to saving the world. If he dies, that's on you. You know that Riley can save him."_

"_She's a mass murderer -"_

"_And he's her **friend**, and if she saves him, she'll be saving everyone in the world," countered the woman. "Make the call. Now."_

_Emily drew a deep breath. "Fine," she growled. "We'll use Riley."_

_The woman smiled brilliantly. "I knew you'd see it my way. Door to Riley."_

=/=/=

"_So tell me about Michael Allen," prompted Jessica Yamada._

_Riley frowned slightly. "He's kinda strange," she mused, moving her piece. "He looks like a fat old security guard, and he acts like it sometimes too, but sometimes he does things that make you think there's more going on than he says, you know?"_

"_I think I do, yes," Jessica murmured. "He bought you the games?"_

"_Oh, yeah," Riley enthused. "They're great. And he showed me how to play them, and he doesn't mind playing, even when I beat him. And he's always really careful to call me Riley, and when he slips and says something wrong, he owns up to it."_

"_That sounds like he's just being nice, to me," observed Jessica._

"_But it's me that he's being nice **to**," Riley told her flatly. "He doesn't know me, he doesn't owe me anything, and I **know** that he knows everything I've done.. Ever since I've been here, he's been like this, and I don't know what I've done to deserve it."_

_Jessica thought about that. She thought about Taylor, and Amy, and the other people that Mike was no doubt using his specialised knowledge to help. Then she looked at Riley. "Maybe he just thinks you're worth taking the effort on," she suggested._

"_But why -" began Riley, and then stopped. Because a doorway had just opened in the middle of the cell._

=/=/=

_The opening that unfolded in empty air surprised Riley no less than it did Mrs Yamada. She'd seen it before, of course; the lady in the business suit had used one to get in and out of the cell, before._

_Now there was one in the cell again, waiting for her to use it. And what she could see through it ..._

"_What … **is** that?" asked the therapist, with what Riley considered to be an admirable degree of calm._

"_It's a doorway," Riley informed her. "Oh crap, that's Mike." She came to her feet, and dashed through the portal. Vaguely, she was aware of Mrs Yamada following, but right at that moment, all she had eyes for was the recumbent form of Michael Allen._

_Dropping to her knees beside the unconscious man, ignoring the guard, who was still applying chest compressions, she felt for a pulse in the neck._

"_Heart's in fibrillation," she muttered. "Need something … ah."_

_A hand reached into her field of view, holding a large folding knife. She took it, glancing upward to see the woman in the business suit, looking back at her with mild interest. She didn't spend more than a moment even thinking about that; her brain was turning over ways to get Mike's heart restarted properly._

=/=/=

"_Medical team to the Director's office, now now now!" snapped Emily into the phone. She looked around as Bonesaw – Riley – pulled the lamp off the desk and smashed it on the floor. Using a knife – where had she gotten **that** from? - she slashed a cord, stripped the wires, then quickly spread out the copper filaments._

"_Out of the way," she told the guard. "I need to restart his heart."_

_The guard paused in his compressions, and looked up at Emily. She nodded, reluctantly; in this situation, the youthful serial killer had far more expertise than either of them. She was, quite literally, Mike's best hope of survival. "Let her do it," she told him._

_He got off Mike, allowing her to slide the ends of the wires down under his t-shirt and tape them in place, using a tape dispenser she got off of Emily's desk. Then she grasped the base of the lamp, and switched it on._

_Mike convulsed, his back arching. Riley switched the lamp off again. She felt for a pulse, shook her head. Switched the lamp on again. Mike jolted; Riley switched the lamp off again._

_And then Mike took a deep, shuddering breath._

_Riley leaned in and felt for a pulse once more. She smiled. "And we're back in business," she announced happily._

_Emily looked around for the woman in the business suit; she wasn't quite sure what she was going to say, but she was sure she would think of something suitable acerbic. But the only other person in the office was Jessica Yamada, standing in a corner out of the way, watching everything with bright-eyed interest._

"_She left," Mrs Yamada answered Emily's unspoken question. "Said she had places to be." She tilted her head slightly. "Who was she?"_

_Emily frowned. "I have no idea." She looked down at Riley, who was getting the guard to help her heave Allen into the recovery position. "Now what am I going to do with **you**?"_

=/=/=

Gradually, I came back to myself. My surroundings were familiar; a narrow bed without much in the way of padding, sterile white-painted walls, a machine beside me that beeped on occasion.

I took stock; my mouth was slightly drier than Death Valley at high summer, my chest ached abominably, and there were way too many needles stuck in me, and leads clipped to me, for my peace of mind.

"Ugh," I grunted.

"Well, he's awake," chirped a cheerful voice, one I also recognised.

"Riley," I croaked, rolling my head to look at her. She was not alone; two PRT soldiers, plus a couple of doctors, and the Director herself, went a fair away toward filling the infirmary.

The blonde munchkin, wearing a surgical mask, held up a water bottle for me to drink from. The first sip moistened my mouth, while the second actually made it down my throat.

"Mike," she scolded me, "you really should take better care of yourself. I got your heart restarted, but it was touch and go."

"When did they call you in?" I asked weakly.

Riley rolled her eyes. _"They_ didn't. Your weird friend in the business suit did. I had to use a pocket knife and a desk lamp to save your life, and they wouldn't even let me keep the pocket knife, after."

I tried to take a deep breath, and realised that there was an oxygen tube taped to my nose. "Emily," I rasped.

The Director heard my voice, and moved closer. "Yes, Mr Allen?" she replied. No _I'm glad you're alive, _or _You gave us quite a fright._ Just _Yes, Mr Allen?_

"Riley … is my attending physician of choice," I told her carefully. "Do you understand?"

Beside her, I saw Riley's face light up like the sunrise, but my gaze was fixed on the Director.

"We have other medical personnel -" she began.

"But you have no-one else with anything like the capability that she does," I pointed out, then breathed in through my nose. My sinuses felt utterly desiccated, but the oxygen was doing me good. "She treats me."

Piggot compressed her lips together. "Very well," she agreed. "Anything else?"

I nodded, carefully. "I presume you recorded that phone call?"

She nodded. "Yes, and I've listened to the recording." Her voice was carefully bland; her eyes were intensely curious.

"Right," I noted. "Well, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, but I guess it'll come to me. But I'm gonna have to be on top of my game. And so are you."

Her gaze was wary. "What … exactly … do you mean, Mr Allen?"

"Your kidneys and legs. We're going to have to fix those." Her lips thinned at my blunt tone, but I went on. I didn't care anymore. "You've got two main options here. You give Riley the go-ahead to operate, or I very politely ask Amy Dallon to work her magic."

Her eyes widened. ""Let – _her_ – operate on me? Are you out of your mind?"

"Dunno, I'll have to get back to you on that one," I told her. "But yeah, I'm serious. She's saved my life _twice_ in the last week. At some point, you're going to have to admit that she's making the effort. In the meantime …" I turned to Riley. "Hey, kiddo, how's my heart doing?"

"Not so fantastic," she admitted. "Your cardiac muscle suffered a bit of damage from the event. I'd really like to revamp it, or build you a new one."

I took the plunge. "How about the other stuff you've been wanting to do?"

Her eyes widened. "You mean it? For true?"

I nodded. "Like I said, I need to be on top of my game. And if that means a whole-body tune-up … "

"Mr Allen!" snapped the Director. "Are you saying that you're going to _ask_ her to perform risky, unnecessary surgeries upon you?"

I shook my head slightly. "Nope. Neither risky nor unnecessary. This is _Riley._ With her doing the surgery, it's not risky. And with what's coming … I'd say it's necessary. Wouldn't you?"

Riley was already looking me over, mumbling to herself. She looked back to my face. "How durable do you want to be? I can give you a level of Brute, easily."

It was my turn to widen my eyes. "I, uh, maybe?" I thought for a moment. "Uh, whatever you do, can you leave me looking totally human? I don't want to freak people out."

"Aww," she responded playfully. "You're no fun." But the mischievous smile told me that she wasn't particularly disappointed. "But sure. I can do that. When I'm finished with you, you're not gonna need that stupid vest any more."

"I kinda _like_ that stupid vest," I objected. "It's saved my ass a couple of times."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, sure," she commented dismissively. "It's not even Tinker tech. I can do better than that in my sleep."

"I'd much rather you were awake to operate," I commented dryly. She giggled.

"Mr Allen," the Director stated sternly, leaning in over her shoulder, "I would strongly advise you against undergoing this course of action." She took a breath. "If you _must_ do so, then at least get a _hero_ to do it, such as Panacea."

"Director Piggot," I retorted, with as much authority as I could muster – which, being flat on my back on my hospital bed, wasn't all that much – "Panacea is currently undergoing therapy due to having been _the_ go-to girl for healing all around the world for the last three years. She doesn't _need_ this crap right now. And Riley is perfectly able to do it for me." I looked back to Riley. "That is, if you don't mind doing it, kiddo?"

Riley grinned at me. "Mind? I've got _all _kinds of ideas. I could give you a couple of extra arms -"

I shook my head carefully. "Nope."

"But you could hide the other two under your shirt," she argued.

I shook my head again. "Nope. Extra arms, not an option."

She rolled her eyes. "You're _no_ fun. Okay, how about this. Eyes in the back of your head."

"Visible and noticeable?" I asked meaningfully.

"You could wear a hat," she pointed out.

"Which would render them useless," I responded. "Nothing that makes me look not human."

Riley pouted; it made her look adorable. _"Fine,"_ she grumped. "Boring old internal improvements it is."

"At least you've got plenty of space to work with," I pointed out, then wondered exactly what was in those IVs. I was taking this _far_ too calmly.

She brightened. "You're right, I have. You don't want to lose any weight in the process?"

I shook my head. "It would feel too weird. Besides, I don't want to have to buy a whole new wardrobe." A thought occurred to me. "Oh, one other thing. You're capable of installing brain mods, right? Specifically, something that'll come into play in case of high stress?"

She looked at me curiously. "Uh, sure. What did you want?"

"Something that'll revert me to a secondary personality that's _exactly _the same as my current personality, only a lot more logical and focused."

She tilted her head. "Sure, I can do that. Do you think that's going to happen?"

"Kiddo," I told her honestly, "I have _no_ idea. I'm just trying to plan for eventualities."

"Okay," she agreed. "Would you like improved reflexes and stamina while I'm working on you? Better eyesight? Overhaul of your digestive system?"

I blinked. "Uh, sure, sure, and only if you can guarantee that chicken will still taste like chicken, after."

She snorted. "You're silly. That's the taste buds, not the digestive system. Was there anything else you wanted?"

"Not really," I told her. "Just fix what's wrong, and if you can make me a bit more durable without, you know, turning me into the Hulk … um, I mean, someone like Trainwreck, I'm good with that too."

"Oh, I can guarantee _that," _Riley assured me cheerfully. I was starting to wonder exactly what I'd agreed to, when she reached out and did something to an IV line. And just like that, the lights went out.

My last conscious thought was _What, she's doing it n -_

=/=/=

_Emily eyed the ringing phone warily. The number displayed did not make her any happier, but she knew she had to pick it up. "Piggot. What can I do for you, Chief Director?"_

"_**I'm told that Michael Allen suffered a heart attack in your office, Director Piggot," **she heard, and moved the receiver an inch or so away from her ear. Chief Director Costa-Brown wasn't shouting, exactly, but she was being very … intense. **"Given how important he is to what's coming up, and how soon it's coming up, you can at least assure me that he's getting the very best in medical care."**_

* * *

_Emily didn't bother asking how Costa-Brown knew about the advanced timeline. She had already added two and two, and concluded that the woman in the business suit was the precog that Allen had mentioned, back on Friday evening. Part of her took the time to be irritated that the man was apparently on speaking terms with two different precogs, whereas she had none in the Wards or local Protectorate._

_Life sometimes just was not fair._

_Especially when she had to break unpleasant news to her boss._

* * *

"_He's under extremely competent medical care, Chief Director," she hedged._

_Her faint hope that this would get her off the hook failed to eventuate. **"What, exactly, does that mean, Director Piggot? Who is he receiving medical care from?"**_

_Emily closed her eyes for a moment. "He requested her specifically, Chief Director," she stated. "She **is** very good at what she does."_

_There was a brief moment of silence, then Costa-Brown spoke once more. **"I presume you are referring to a cape. Either Panacea or Bonesaw. From what I understand, Panacea is undergoing therapy. Bonesaw, then."**_

_Emily felt the chasm yawning beneath her feet. "Yes, Chief Director. He specifically asked for her as his attending physician."_

"_**And she agreed?" **The Chief Director's voice didn't seem to be overly angry._

_Emily began to hold out hope that she'd still have her job in twenty-four hours. "Uh … yes. She seemed positively thrilled at the idea."_

"_**Hm. It could be much worse. What sort of shape is he in?"**_

"_Uh, according to her, he pulled through the heart attack reasonably well, but she wanted to do some repairs -"_

"_**Wait, repairs?"**_

_The chasm was back. "Yes, uh, she wanted to rebuild his heart, and he agreed to let her perform other surgeries -"_

"_**Oh, for god's sake, Emily! The girl is a **_**Tinker**_**. You have two Tinkers on your strength there. You **_**know**_** how they can get, once they're in the zone! Once she starts on him, he'll be lucky to still be in the same shape when she finishes!"**_

_Emily had the horrible feeling that she should have put a stop to this before it ever started. But the woman **had** told her to bring Riley in on it, and she **was** an associate of the Chief Director's, either in her civilian identity or in her identity as Alexandria. Either way, it wasn't on her._

"_No, uh, he made her promise not to," she responded._

_There was a long pause. **"He made **_**Bonesaw**_** promise to something?"**_

"_Uh, yes. He said he still wanted to look normal human, after. Just to make sure he was healthy, and just a little more durable than before. That's all right, isn't it?"_

_Costa-Brown sounded extremely dubious. **"If she sticks to both the letter and spirit of the agreement, **_**maybe.**_**"**_

"_Should I have stopped her from operating altogether?"_

"_**I … can't see how that would have turned out well. Mr Allen **_**had**_** just suffered a heart attack, after all. I've seen the text, and heard the information about how he needs to be there. We want him to survive until then. And he **_**does**_** tend to get himself into dangerous situations."**_

"_What if I just locked him into a cell until the time came?" Emily hazarded. "Just as a hypothetical? Keeping him out of harm's way? Protective custody, so to speak?"_

_Costa-Brown's voice was very dry. **"Really. And that would be the way to keep him happy with us?"**_

_Even though Costa-Brown could not see her, Emily shook her head. "No. Not in the slightest."_

"_**Indeed. Add to that the fact that we really, truly, do not know exactly what we are dealing with in Mr Allen, so let us keep matters between us as civil as possible. Let the Tinker girl do what she thinks is necessary to keep him alive. It may lead to less work for other associates of mine, which is all to the good."**_

"_Very well. May I ask -"_

"_**No, you may not. However, you **_**can**_** do something for me. Once Mr Allen has recovered from his surgeries, arrange a time with him for a second conference, regarding the schedule change. We really need to all be on the same page about this matter."**_

"_I can definitely do that," Emily assured her._

"_**Good,"** Costa-Brown told her. **"I'll be waiting for your call."**_

_The line went dead; Emily put the phone down and carefully leaned back, willing her rigid back muscles to relax._

"_Fuuuuuuuck," she muttered._

_Some days, being Director made tap-dancing in a minefield seem like an extremely positive job opportunity._

=/=/=

Waking up to see Director Piggot's face frowning down on one is not something to be experienced by anyone with a weak heart. Fortunately, thanks to Riley, I didn't have one of those any more.

There were a few more machines crowding the infirmary this time around; most of them were silent and still, but I had the distinct impression that this had not always been the case. One was still plugged into me, and if I squinted sideways, I could see the regular lines of my heartbeats bouncing across the screen.

_Wait, what? Heartbeat**s**?_

I turned my head slightly; my neck hurt, but I turned it anyway. Sure enough, there was the classic heatbeat signal there, and just under it, a slightly weaker, but still extremely distinctive _second_ heartbeat. Both of them seemed to speed up slightly, as I digested this information.

"Are you all right, Mr Allen?"

Piggot's question actually came as a relief; I turned my head back and focused on her. Actually _focused_ on her, which gave me pause. My eyesight had been drifting over the last few years, and I was getting used to wearing glasses for close work, but I hadn't realised that my vision was slightly fuzzy even at a metre or so. But there it was; I could see every detail, every pore, of her face.

Not that I really _wanted_ to, but there it was.

I took a cautious breath. My chest hurt, but in a general-ache sort of way, not a sharp-stabbing-pain sort of way. "Not sure," I croaked. "Tell you when I find out what else she's done."

Riley appeared at my side, offering me the spout of a water bottle. I was getting fairly used to this; I sipped, to moisten my mouth, then again, to wet my throat.

"Some day," I observed, after the second sip, "they're going to figure out how to do surgery without people waking up after with dry mouth."

Riley grinned. "Sorry. I'm a Tinker, but even I can't work miracles."

I snorted, and regretted it; my chest hurt. "Ow."

"Well, you shouldn't be making noises like that," she scolded me. "Your chest is going to hurt for a little bit, and so's the rest of you. You'd really let yourself go, you know?"

I rolled my eyes. They hurt, too. "I'm not young anymore, kiddo. Degradation happens."

"Yeah, well, I found microfractures in your ribcage and collarbone. Recent ones. Car accident?"

"Not so much of an accident," I admitted. "I kind of put my vehicle in the way of a couple of cars, so they wouldn't run someone over."

She shook her head. "I got to you just in time. You didn't have any signs of actual heart disease, just, you know, being old. But the stress you've been putting yourself through over the last few days … seriously."

I took another breath. My chest still hurt. "So tell me exactly what you did to me."

She smiled sunnily. "Didja see the second heartbeat? Isn't it cool? After I fixed your heart, I built you a second one. So you can get shot in the heart, and keep going now."

"_Not_ in my game plan," I stated firmly. "And _barely_ within the lines of 'nothing that doesn't look human'. What else?"

She wrinkled her nose at me. "No-one can tell by looking, so there. Anyway."

As she spoke, she ticked off on her fingers. "I reinforced your skeleton, got rid of some arthritis, fixed your knees, got rid of that click in your ankles, gave you ten degrees more flexibility in your neck, dealt with some digestive problems, increased your reflexes and hand-eye coordination, rerouted your carotid arteries, armoured your skull, toned up most of your muscles, did that brain hack you asked for, and gave you some subdermal armour. Easy peasy!"

As the list went on, Director Piggot's expression grew more and more unhappy. I couldn't blame her. I was starting to sound like the classic Six Million Dollar Man. Meanwhile, I _felt_ like the Buck Fifty man, and discounted at that.

"So," I managed, after the recitation was over, "three questions. One; how much did this cost the PRT, and how long am I going to be in hock until I pay it off?"

To my surprise, the Director shook her head. "Less than it takes to outfit one PRT trooper, Mr Allen," she admitted. "She did most of the work with the materials we had on hand."

Riley nodded. "Though I really think if I could have gotten some of that carbon-fibre nanoweave they're talking about - "

Piggot cleared her throat. _"No,_ Riley. I said no then, and I'm saying no now. Buying that material would not only blow out my budget for the next year, but it would also draw very much unwanted attention to us, here, now. And possibly to Mr Allen in particular. And we do not want that."

"I'm good," I ventured. "It'll be a terrible disappointment, but I guess I'm gonna have to live without carbon-fibre nanoweave for the moment."

Riley grinned at me. "They recorded the entire surgery. I can't wait to show you!"

I considered that. Me, opened up on the table … "Yeah, you know? I think I can skip that, too."

She rolled her eyes. "Your loss. Anyway, what were your other questions?"

I tried to think back, recall what they were. "Um, how long till I'm up and about?"

Riley shot the looming presence of Director Piggot a glance. _"She_ wants to keep you in bed for a week. _I _say you're good to go, today. All those aches and pains should go away, once the nerves seat themselves properly."

"Hm," I observed. "And that leads me to the third question. What day is it? How long was I under? Because I had a date."

Riley grimaced. "I'm sorry about taking so long," she told me. "I'm used to working fast, in the field, but the Director told me that if I was going to do this, I had to do it right. So I took my time."

"So how _long?"_ I prompted her. _Weeks? A month? Christ, Gladys is gonna be so worried about me._

"It's Thursday," Piggot told me.

I frowned. _"Which_ Thursday? A week? Two weeks?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Riley explained cheerfully. "Three days."

"Three _days?"_ I couldn't get my head around it. "You did all that in three _days?"_

"Sure." She nodded seriously. "I _said_ she made me take my time."

"Wow, damn," I muttered, subsiding back on to the pillow; for the first time, I realised that I'd been half sitting up. "I knew you were good. I knew you were _damn_ good. I just didn't realise _how_ good."

She grinned and shook her finger at me. "Language, Mike."

I rolled my eyes.

=/=/=

**Friday**

"I can't believe you let her _do_ that to you," Taylor expostulated.

I looked up at her from the wheelchair that I was currently inhabiting. The bandages had come off that morning, and a PRT male nurse had assisted me in getting dressed in my ordinary clothes; I wasn't going to ask how they had arrived at the PRT building from my apartment. I had washed my face, in preparation for the arrival of visitors. Which, in the event, turned out to be Taylor, Amy, Theo and Danny.

How they'd even found out about my heart attack and subsequent surgery was something else I wasn't sure about. The grapevine, I decided, was a strange and mysterious thing, even in a world of superhumans. Or perhaps, _especially_ in a world of superhumans.

We sat in the visiting lounge for the infirmary; me in my wheelchair, the others in their seats, with a screen off to the side, allowing Riley to attend, in a manner of speaking. I had lobbied for allowing her to attend in person, but Piggot had put her foot down. This was the best I had gotten.

"I didn't _let_ her, so much as _asked_ her," I replied. "I _had_ had a heart attack, after all." It was interesting that each time I said those words, they seemed to make the event recede a little farther into the background, make it a little less immediate. "It sort of changes your perspective."

There was also the other matter, what Dinah had advised me about, but I wasn't going to tell the kids about that. That was between me and those few who knew about it.

"_I_ can't believe you asked _her,_ instead of _me,"_ Amy responded, less heatedly. "You _know_ I would have helped you out in a heartbeat."

I nodded. "Yeah, but I'm never going to _assume_ that, kiddo. I might ask, and you can say yes, but it's not a given. Not ever a given. Anyway, if you want, I do have a favour to ask of you."

"Uh, sure, what is it?" she asked.

I held out my hand to her. "Just … look me over. Don't change anything; I trust Riley's work. Just … smooth down the edges. Help the nerves seat themselves, whatever that means. Right now, I ache all over. If you can help me with that, that would be awesome."

"_Wimp,"_ observed Riley from the screen, but she was grinning.

"Darn right," I agreed cheerfully.

"_You **know** I raised your pain tolerance,"_ she advised me.

I shrugged as Amy took hold of my hand. "And? I reserve my right to be a wimp."

"Wow," the biokinetic muttered as she concentrated. "You did all this in three days?"

Riley rolled her eyes. _"Why does everyone have trouble accepting that I can do that?"_

"Okay, wow, you weren't kidding about the secondary heart. Right … healing surgery scars now. Mike, you've got a little bone degradation; want me to reverse that?"

"Um, sure," I agreed. "If you want, go for it."

She smiled. "It's no problem at all. Riley, you really went to town on him, didn't you?"

"_Well, it was like this," _Riley explained. _"He wanted to be a bit tougher, a bit more durable. Let's just say, it was a bit of a challenge."_

"Hey!" I protested. "I resemble that remark!" Danny laughed; the others followed suit when they caught the joke. As they did so, I could feel the aches and pains leaching out of my body, leaving feeling of wellbeing behind.

"_Not any more, you don't," _Riley reminded me.

"Uh, what's this in your brain?" asked Amy. "Some sort of neural switching … "

"_Don't touch that," _Riley cautioned her quickly.

"Yeah, it's supposed to be there," I told her. "Sort of a failsafe. If I ever get into a really, really tight situation, I want to be able to think clearly."

"Huh," muttered Amy. "Interesting."

I considered matters. "Actually, Amy, could I speak to you on a private matter, please?"

Amy looked at me; with the contact that she was holding, she could tell I was serious about something. "Uh, sure?"

On cue, Danny rose. "Let's go get something out of the vending machine, shall we, kids?"

Theo came along willingly enough; Taylor showed signs of wanting to linger. I gave her a level stare. "No spy bugs, okay?"

She grinned. "Okay, but I'll be getting it out of Amy later anyway."

I glanced at Riley's screen. _"Fine,"_ she agreed, rolling her eyes. _"I'll turn it back on in five minutes."_ Her screen went dark.

* * *

Once I was sure the lounge was clear, I turned to Amy and lowered my voice. "I need you to do some brain work on me."

She stared at me, eyes wide. "I – I don't – I can't - "

I took a breath. "Let me rephrase. I'd _like_ you to, but you don't have to if you don't want to."

Her gaze was wary. "What is it that you want?"

"My memory," I told her. "While Riley's done some marvellous work to fix my body, I need to be able to access my long-term memories, more readily than I can right now. There's some information that I would really, really like to be able to pull up at a moment's notice, instead of getting it wrong." I shrugged. "Problems of age. CRAFT disease and all that."

She wrinkled her nose at the reference to the joke I had made, but nodded. "I – I could do it. But I don't know … "

I nodded understandingly. "That's fine. I thought I'd ask you first. I'm guessing Riley could do it, but she'd have to actually go into my skull, whereas you don't. But if you are just not comfortable with doing it, that's perfectly understandable."

If she hadn't been reading my body along with listening to my words, she may have taken me as being sarcastic, or trying to guilt-trip her. But I wasn't, and she knew it. I was being absolutely sincere, which actually made her more likely to do what I asked. Which I knew; a spoonful of sugar, and all that.

It wasn't that I was actively trying to manipulate her; I was just helping her come to the decision that she wanted to come to. And also, to get used to working with brains. I didn't _know_ that she'd need to do that in future, but it was a pretty good guess.

Slowly, she nodded. "Sure, I can do that. Just improve your memory recall? That's it?"

"That's it," I assured her. "Muchly appreciate it."

She smiled, and placed a hand on my head. I wasn't even sure if I felt anything happening, before she took her hand away. "Done."

I blinked. Memories were not cascading through my brain. I felt perfectly normal. "Okay. Not gonna ask are you sure, because that's kind of insulting. So I'll take your word for it."

Amy nodded, her expression grateful. "Trust me, it's done."

I looked into her eyes. "Was it difficult?"

She drew a deep breath, went to look away, then obviously thought better of it. Her hazel eyes met mine directly. "Not as difficult as I'd thought. Easy, in fact."

I squeezed her hand. "Chin up, kiddo. Now you've got something else to talk through with Mrs Yamada."

She smiled at the mention of the therapist. "She's nice. Not what I thought it would be like."

"She's all of that," I agreed. "Is it progressing well?"

"I think so," she mused. "If I want to vent about something, she listens and offers opinions. If I don't, she talks about something else instead. I'm really _comfortable_ with her, you know?"

I nodded. "That's excellent. And how's things in the Hebert household? Any hassles yet?"

There was a pause; she frowned slightly in thought. "Nothing that I can think of," she admitted. "I'm doing better in the morning runs, or maybe she's easing up on me."

"Heh, yeah, no," I told her. "Taylor isn't the type to ease up. If you think you're doing better, it's probably because you're actually doing better."

"Oh, you think so?" she asked, pleased. "Wow, thanks."

"Pretty sure of it," I assured her. "And have you designed any other cool and unusual bugs between you since I saw you last?"

"Oh, yeah, I -" she began, then we both looked around at the sound of Danny clearing his throat.

"Is it safe to come back?" he asked, leaning in through the doorway.

"Sure thing, Dad - I mean, Danny," she told him, then ducked her head, a flush spreading over her face.

"Thanks, kiddo," he replied with a grin; I wasn't quite sure which part of her statement he was referring to. As he sat down, he tousled her hair; she smiled, still blushing.

"That's the third time she's called him Dad this week," Taylor commented, sitting next to Amy and putting her arm around the girl's shoulders. "If she keeps this up, we're just gonna have to adopt her."

I decided that if Amy blushed any harder, she might just spontaneously combust, so I took pity on her.

"So, Theo," I addressed the pudgy teen, "how's things working out with you and the Wards? And how's Kayden getting along in New York?"

"I thought about what you said," he told me, "and looked into mythology. Thought about Nazis and who they hated. It was a lot of research, but Taylor helped." He stopped to share a grin with her.

"We went to the library, after school," Taylor supplied. "It was fun."

"Taylor and Theo, sitting in a tree ... " murmured Amy, just before Taylor elbowed her, not hard.

"It's not like that," Taylor protested. "We're _friends."_

Amy grinned at her. "And so are we, which means I'm allowed to tease you about hanging out with a boy while I'm in therapy."

Theo was blushing now, so I addressed him again. "Theo, ignore them. You figured out a name?"

He nodded. "Uh, yes, Mr Allen. I settled on 'Golem'. It's a name from Jewish mythology that -"

I nodded. "Yup. I know what a golem is. Nicely done."

He eyed me suspiciously. "You knew that's the one I was going to pick."

"Mayybe." I gave him a grin. "Or maybe it's just a good name. A piece of advice, though?"

"What's that?"

"When you settle on your costume, make sure your mask doesn't cover your mouth. Otherwise it'll sound like the name of _another_ particular fantasy character."

Theo frowned. "Huh?"

"Allow me to demonstrate. Open mask. Golem. Closed mask." I put my hand over my mouth. "Golem." Hand off. "Golem." Hand over mouth. "Golem."

Taylor got it first, her eyes opening wide. "Oh my god, it totally does." She put her own hand over her mouth, muffling her giggles.

"My precioussss," Amy ad-libbed, causing Theo and Taylor to laugh out loud. Even Danny chuckled.

"Open mask, got it," Theo noted. "Definitely open mask."

Riley's screen lit up again. _"Five minutes is up. So what did I miss?"_

"Not much," Theo told her. "Bad jokes at my expense." He turned back toward me. "I spoke to Kayden last night on the phone. She's happy, and says that Aster's doing well."

"How about the Wards, here?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, they're good people. I get along well with Vista; she says that crappy parenting is something that young capes just have to deal with. The guys are pretty cool, too. And Taylor with her bugs … well, I'm just impressed."

I glanced at Taylor. "What about your bugs, again?" I asked.

Taylor put her arm around Amy's shoulders and squeezed. "My very best friend in all the world, here, has been culturing relay bugs by the dozen. I've got most of Brockton Bay covered, and I've got spy bugs and vox bugs all over as well."

"Hey, I just make 'em," Amy noted, but she leaned into Taylor's embrace. "You're the one who uses them like a boss."

"You mean, like a Master?" I retorted. Everyone laughed; the joke being, of course, that Taylor was indeed rated Master for her control over bugs.

Danny spoke up. "I've got a question for you, Mike."

I looked at him. "Yeah?"

He nodded at the wheelchair. "If Amy fixed your aches and pains, why are you still in that chair? Feeling lazy or something?"

I grinned at him. "I reserve the right to be lazy, no matter how many of my problems have been fixed by bullshit magic super-powers." Placing my feet on the ground, and my hands on the arms of the chair, I leaned forward.

"_Careful there, Mike,"_ Riley cautioned me. _"Everything's in the right place, but you might need to learn to use it properly again."_

I nodded. "Duly noted. Let's see how this goes."

Carefully, I stood up. The brakes on the wheelchair stopped it from rolling backward, giving me a certain amount of steadiness.

Which, as it happened, I needed. "Whoa." A wave of dizziness swept over me, and I wavered, almost falling back into the chair again.

Danny was on his feet, as were the other three. "Mike?"

"I'm good," I assured them. "I'm good." The dizziness came over again, but it wasn't as strong. This time I weathered it, and took a step forward. Then another. "Wow. This is cool."

"_How is it?"_ Riley's face was concerned.

"Good," I told her, moving from one foot to the other, testing my balance. With each step, old instincts kicked in, making it easier, smoother. "Wow, you really worked me over, didn't you?"

Riley grinned. _"That's what I said I'd do, isn't it?"_

I nodded. "That you did, kiddo. That you did."

=/=/=

"Come in."

I pushed open the door to Director Piggot's office and entered; Amy followed behind me. The Director looked me up and down, and nodded grudgingly.

"It appears that you have recovered well from Riley's surgical attentions," she noted. "I presume that you've come here to tell me that you're checking yourself out and going home?"

"That's part of it, yeah," I noted. "Also that there's something that you need to get done. Remember?"

Her gaze hardened. "You do not get to walk into my office and dictate to me what I must and must not do."

I shook my head. "You know what's coming. You know what's in store." _You know what's going to happen to me._ "You were a soldier, once. Are you going to tell me that you're not going to face what's coming on your own two feet, rather than hiding behind an invalid's excuse?"

She glared at me. "God _damn_ you, Michael Allen!"

I stepped forward and leaned on her desk with both hands clenched into fists. "Maybe I just don't care any more. Are you still a soldier? Or is Lady dead and gone, along with the fallen of Ellisburg?"

She was on her feet, face not two feet from mine. _"You do not talk to me about Ellisburg!"_

"Why the hell _not?"_ I shouted back. "If Lady died there, if you've just given up, then what the _hell _do you care?"

The door behind me opened, and a guard entered. Without looking away from me, she gestured him back.

Her eyes narrowed. _"Fine,_ Mr Allen," she grated. "I'll take the goddamn treatment. If only so you'll _shut the fuck up_ about it."

"Good!" I snapped, still riding the adrenaline high.

"Good!" she retorted.

I turned to Amy, who had her back up against the wall, in an unconscious retreat from the raised voices. "Hey, kiddo. Sorry about that. Still okay to help the Director out?"

She cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah, sure. Kidneys and leg muscles, right?" She approached the Director. "Do you give consent for this?"

Director Piggot slumped down into her chair again. "Okay, fine, whatever." She seemed to have lost all desire to argue. "Just get it done, and get out of my office."

Amy took her hand, and concentrated. "Old wounds … long healed. Extensive scarring in your leg muscles … more in your back. Kidneys … wow, not much left of them."

"Enough of the commentary," snapped the Director. "Just do it."

Amy nodded. "Fixing the leg muscles … now. Kidneys … okay, administering a local nerve block, so you don't feel anything. Starting kidney regrowth."

* * *

As she spoke, I breathed deeply, tamping down the adrenaline reaction. I was, I decided, a little more impetuous, a little more impulsive, than I had been before. This was probably the result of several factors, which I had not foreseen when I had accepted Riley's assistance. It didn't matter; now that I knew what was going on, I could more easily keep an eye on myself.

My body was stronger, quicker; my senses sharper, my reflexes faster. I would have said that I felt twenty years younger, but I hadn't felt like this even in my twenties.

* * *

"And done," Amy reported, releasing the Director's hand. "Leg muscles and kidneys, all as good as new."

"Well done," Piggot replied tartly. "Now, if you're done wasting my time, kindly leave my office. I have work to do."

I nodded to her. "Sorry about the shouting. I'll see you later."

She glowered at me. "Indeed."

We turned to go; just as I reached the door, she raised her voice slightly.

"Mr Allen?"

"Yes?" I ushered Amy out, and turned to look at the Director.

"We're going to need another conference soon, regarding mutual concerns. Let me know when you'll be available."

"Sure, okay," I agreed. "How about tonight?"

She frowned. "That's rather short notice. What about tomorrow night?"

"Not a hope," I told her, shaking my head definitively. "It'll have to be Sunday."

"Why not Saturday?" she asked incautiously.

"Because Saturday night, I've got a date." Grinning, I slipped out the door and escaped.

* * *

End of Chapter Forty-Two


	43. Chapter 43

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Three: Everything Changes

* * *

**Tuesday, April 26, 2011**

* * *

We stood outside the warehouse; Clockblocker, Kid Win, Browbeat and myself. The other three were in their standard costumes. I wore a light helmet that covered my mouth, a basic bodysuit in dark grey with a red kite-shield shape on the front, a black jacket, heavy gloves and heavy boots. I'd made sure that the bodysuit was _not_ skin tight – no-one needed to see _that_ on me – and that it provided a little padding against blunt impacts.

"Trainwreck's in there?" I asked out loud.

"_That's what my bugs tell me,"_ the oversized insect on my shoulder stated. _"Along with about forty mooks. Armed with clubs, knives and guns."_

"How far away are the others?"

"_Still mopping up,"_ the vox-bug admitted. _"They'll be a little while. Armsmaster recommends setting up a perimeter, keeping them contained until backup can get to you."_

I shook my head. "I got a better idea. I'm going in."

"_Not a good idea, Mike. I think you should wait for backup."_

"Nah," I replied. "I've never been a big fan of letting the bad guys stew in their lair. God knows what they can get up to."

"_You do realise that I have bugs in there right now. I know what they're up to."_

"Good," I told Weaver lightly. "I'm counting on it."

"_You're a lot more reckless since that thing. I don't like it."_

I shrugged. "It is what it is." I turned to the others. "Cover the exits. Anyone comes out, if you can subdue them, do it. If you don't think you can, back off. I do not want you guys getting hurt." I looked from masked face to visor to opaque faceplate. "You do _not_ follow me in. Is that clear?"

Browbeat shrugged, already bulking up a little more; Kid Win looked unhappy. I couldn't see Clockblocker's expression, of course.

"We could back you up in there," Kid Win suggested.

"Nope. I'd have to keep an eye on the three of you," I told him. "Watch the exits. I'm not one for orders, but that's a very strong suggestion."

Reluctantly, he nodded. Rising into the air on his hoverboard, he headed around the warehouse to the side exit. Clockblocker gave me a nod of his own, and loped away, toward the loading bay. I turned to Browbeat. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he replied. "You'll be all right in there?"

I smiled briefly, although the light helmet I was wearing hid it. "See how I go."

As I headed for the front entrance, I considered Taylor's words. I _was_ being more reckless; was it because I knew I would survive until the war started? Or was it due to the changes that Riley and Amy had made to my brain? _Maybe it's a little of column A, a little of column B. _In any case, I was going in there to create some mayhem.

As I got to the door, the vox-bug climbed into the helmet, where a niche had been hollowed out in the padding for it. _"Forty to one odds, Mike."_

I grinned tightly as adrenaline began to flood my system. "Yeah. It's called a target-rich environment."

"_You're nuts. You know that, right?"_

"Entirely plausible. So, anyone near this door?"

"_Nobody close enough to stop you from getting in. Five guys who might hear you come in. They're armed, Mike."_

"Firearms?"

"_Clubs and knives."_

I drew a deep breath. "Let's do this. Oh, and do me a favour?"

"_Yeah?"_

"Put the lights out for me?"

"_Already on it."_

I opened the door and went in fast, not wanting to silhouette myself for too long against the outside light. The door closed behind me, and I could see haphazard rows of shipping containers, at least a dozen of them, maybe more.

"Hey, what was that?" The voice was rough, accompanied by sounds of movement. I started heading for cover, and that was when the lights went out.

Taylor and Amy had not been idle over the three days that Riley had spent rebuilding me; they had relay bugs, spy bugs, vox bugs, Ali bugs, ketamine wasps, and a whole range of specialised insects and spiders for various tasks. Among the more interesting were cutter bugs, designed specifically to chew through things. Such as cords, ropes, fuses … and electrical wiring. The tricky bit wasn't that they secreted acid on what they chewed, though that was fairly impressive. The _really_ tricky bit was that they were somehow insulated, so they wouldn't be fried by the wires they were chewing through. Amy was very proud of that little touch.

Everything went dark, then the lights came up again, only not so bright. Looking around, I couldn't spot the source of the illumination.

"Nicely done," I murmured, "but you missed the security lights."

"_I did no such thing. It's nearly pitch black in there."_

"Then how come I can still see pretty well?"

A pause. _"Amy says your upgrades give you functional low-light capability."_

"Huh. Tell her I'm very impressed."

Light splashed across the ceiling, reflecting dimly down toward the floor, giving me daylight-bright illumination, while everyone else would still have dimness and lots of shadows. I could also hear shouting.

"What the hell is that?"

"_That's Trainwreck. He's pissed at you, apparently."_

"He has headlights?"

"_Looks like it."_

Distantly, at the other end of the warehouse, I could a juddering sound began; it was somehow familiar, although the echoes made it hard to identify. "Is that … a jackhammer?"

"_Of sorts. He's apparently got an attachment on one arm. Uh."_

"Uh, what?"

"_Uh, maybe it's a good idea that you went in when you did. They're digging a hole in the floor."_

"What for?"

"_I don't know. I was hoping you might be able to find out for me."_

At that moment, I encountered the first of the five that had been coming to investigate. He had a metal rod in his hands; I took it from him and donated an elbow to the head in return. As he crumpled to the ground, I took a stride to reach his buddy. A jab to the solar plexus folded him, and he subsided, wheezing.

"_Wait a minute. If you were expecting to be nearly blind, why did you get me to turn out the lights?"_

"Because I wanted to turn the lights out for them, too. Besides, I've still got my other enhanced senses. Amy and Riley did a good job."

" … _you're still nuts."_

"Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Where's the next target?"

"_Your one o'clock. Five yards. And Armsmaster's pissed, too."_

"Eh, he'll get over it."

I would have said more, but I could hear breathing from just up ahead, around the corner. I could also smell the acrid stench of whatever drugs the Merchant had been taking, expressing through his evaporating saliva. My ears were so sensitive at this point that I could hear a very faint creaking sound. After a moment, my brain translated it as _human hands, sweaty, tightening over a wooden cylinder. Probably a baseball bat._

A step. He was coming closer to the corner of the shipping container that I was lurking alongside.

"_One coming up behind you."_

Just as the vox-bug spoke, I heard the footsteps, and the clinking of what sounded like a chain. I was between two shipping containers, and Methbreath McBaseball Bat was in front of me, while the newcomer was about to be right behind me. In a moment, they'd have me boxed, and I could hear the footsteps of a third. "Where's number three?"

"_Other side of the container."_

"Got it." _Time to step it up a notch._

Crouching, I leaped. A vertical jump that would have smashed Olympic records; I placed my hand on the top of the shipping container as I vaulted on to it. Two long strides, and I was off the other side, falling as lightly as I could to the concrete floor.

The mook there was so surprised that he nearly dropped his machete; it wouldn't have done him any good, anyway. I backfisted him in the back of the head, and his face bounced off the metal wall.

As he crumpled, the guy with the baseball bat came back around the corner, moving fast. I reached out, took the bat from him, then smacked him in the middle of the forehead with the handle. His eyes crossed and he slid to the ground. I heard more footsteps approaching and I turned; with the speed of the footsteps, somehow I _knew_ that the guy with the chain would be coming around the corner – _now_. I threw the bat, end over end. Chain guy stepped around the corner, just in time to collect it in the face, whereupon he lost all interest in the proceedings.

"_Okay, now you're just showing off."_

"Says the girl who's controlling every bug in Brockton Bay, individually and intelligently."

"_That's different. I've got powers."_

"More than one way to get powers, kiddo."

"_I think I'd rather not have a heart attack first."_

"Yeah, I could've stood to miss that bit, too. Next?"

"_Three of them, twenty yards, your two o'clock. Can you handle three at once?"_

I grinned. "Only one way to find out."

One of them saw me coming, but he didn't have time to call a warning before I was in among them. They were good; they knew how to fight. Or at least, they knew how to fight when their opponent wasn't anticipating their every move.

It was like a free-form dance of sorts; unfortunately for them, they were all out of step with one another. I moved between them, dancing between the raindrops, evading wild swings and awkward punches. Amy had improved my memory; I used that to pull up long-buried recollections of the six months of martial arts I had done, more than twenty years previously.

Silat was an Indonesian martial art, very dance-like in its form. I had enjoyed doing it, but I'd never been very good at it. Now? It was giving my fighting moves some shape, some form, and I was moving like a freaking _master._

Strike, block, slide aside from a punch. Humming sound as a chain comes through the air. Catch the chain at its midpoint, allow it to whip around, direct it into the face of the third man. He goes down. Yank on the chain, avoid the counter-strike. Turning, the second guy and I moving in unison, his knife sliding past my neck. Almost choreographed. Knee to his stomach, elbow to the back of his head. All blows carefully calibrated to avoid permanent injury.

Both hands now locked around the wrist of the guy with the chain. Turning, pulling him with me. The impetus of the spin lifting him off of his feet. Slamming him into the side of a shipping container. Dropping him, letting the chain slide off my wrist, as he subsides groaning to the floor.

Elapsed time, seven seconds.

"_Holy shit."_

"So this is what it's like for Armsmaster."

"_What do you mean?"_

I was moving now, toward the next group. "Combat prediction algorithm. Lets him see how best to fight an opponent."

"_So you're basically cheating."_

"Can I help it if it's like playing easy mode on a video game? And anyway, you cheat too. All the time."

"_That's different."_

I grinned again. "You just keep telling yourself that."

* * *

There were five left between me and Trainwreck. Two went down within seconds of me getting in among them, but the other three were made of tougher stuff. I hit one guy and he staggered backward but didn't fall; mentally I tagged him with the label _Tough Bastard._ He came back at me; at the same time, number four swung a baseball bat. I didn't have the chance to duck, and I didn't want to see how I stood up to a baseball bat to the head, so I brought up my forearm instead. He was a big guy and the bat was moving fast when it hit my forearm; there was a _crack_ as the bat broke. _Reinforced bones plus subdermal armour. Thank you, Riley._

The look on his face was classic; I nearly laughed. Instead, I kicked him in the groin, then kneed him in the face as he went down. Tough Bastard was getting on my case again; I blocked a punch, spoiled a kick, and broke his jaw with my elbow. _That_ time, he went down and stayed there.

That left number five. I'd been smelling gun oil and expended propellant ever since I entered the fight, and now I knew where it was coming from. He held a short-barrelled semi-auto pistol, pointed in my general direction; he'd been waiting for his sight line to clear. I heard the _tik_ as his finger took up enough slack on the trigger for it to begin releasing the sear.

And then the pistol went off. I was already moving my head to the side, and the first shot whipped past my ear, two inches out. Unfortunately, I was looking directly at the muzzle-flare; between it and the report, I was effectively blinded and deafened. I would have been floored with the pain, but nerve blocks cut in to bring that down to a dull discomfort.

Riley was _very_ good at what she did.

I couldn't see; I couldn't hear. My nostrils were full of the smell of burned double-base powder. But my brain was still functioning. Emotion stripped away, and logic reigned.

_He's going to shoot again, adjusting toward where I was._

I twisted again, seeing a vague flare, hearing a faint discharge, and a dull thud impacted my chest. But there was no pain, no shortness of breath, no feeling of being badly hurt.

_Third time will be centre mass._

I had been moving toward him all the time. My brain constructed an image of where he should be, based on the last shot, and I reached out with both hands. Took hold of a forearm with my left hand, a hand holding a pistol with my right. Twisted, as though I was wringing out a dishcloth; the wrist snapped, rotating nearly one hundred eighty degrees in my implacable grip.

And then my vision and hearing snapped back into sharp focus; some sort of auto-reboot, I figured. The guy with the gun was screaming, the gun dangling from his useless hand. I took it away from him, then let him slump to the ground. There was a sore spot in the middle of my chest; I touched it, felt a hole in my costume, a spot where the skin was torn, but the hole went no deeper. _Must have glanced off the subdermal armour_. There was a little bit of blood, the scent coppery in the air. Not much, though, and it was already clotting. "Huh. Nice."

"_You okay?"_

"Armour took a hit. I'm fine. Any more?"

"_Just Trainwreck. You've got backup coming, less than two minutes out."_

"Tell 'em if they hurry, I might let them pick up the pieces."

"_No, Mike, you don't need to take him on yourself."_

"I need to find out what the hole's for."

I stepped around the last shipping container, to see the villain standing over a ragged hole in the floor, the bright white headlights attached to his shoulders illuminating it brightly. As I watched, he discarded an attachment from one arm; it clattered to the floor noisily. _I'm guessing that was the jackhammer. _It wasn't much of a guess; I had used one, once upon a time, and the shape was roughly the same.

Not far from the hole were crates, bags, all sorts of containers, stacked haphazardly. My nostrils began to sort out the odours that I was picking up. I didn't wait; I had a bad feeling about this.

There was also another noise I was hearing, a smell I was picking up.

"Trainwreck!" I shouted.

He turned; his head was the only human-looking part of him. The rest was all gears and pistons and mechanical bits and pieces. As a fan of steampunk, I could appreciate what he'd made of himself; as a proponent of law and order, I didn't like what he was using it for.

He frowned. "You're not in the Protectorate," he accused me. "Who the fuck are you?"

I advanced toward him; he stepped up to face me. His headlights glared in my direction, but my eyes adjusted in seconds. I breathed deeply through my nostrils, picking out the scents, and sorting through them. One set of smells was drugs; a lot of them. Different types. All of them illegal. That was what was probably in the stacked containers behind Trainwreck. He emanated the smells of machine oil, hydraulic fluid, hot metal. The tiny whir and hum of servos was almost certainly him as well.

The other smell was that of fresh water; it matched the sound, that of running water.

_Did he dig through to the water main?_

"The name's Security," I replied, moving closer. "What's with the hole? It's not an escape tunnel; you'd never fit. Besides, from the sound of it, there's water down there."

"Security?" he retorted. "What, that fat guard that Skidmark was talking about? You him? What, did you make up a costume and join the Protectorate? Fuck, they must be really hard up if they took _you_ on."

Just for that, I wanted to punch his sneering face in, but I kept my temper in check. _Okay, cool it. That's the combat mods talking._ "Not a Protectorate cape," I replied, keeping my voice even. "Independent contractor. But I'm working with them, yeah." I looked up at him, looming over me. "So, you gonna come quietly, or do I need to get rough?"

=/=

* * *

**Monday, April 25, 2011**

* * *

"The Empire Eighty-Eight is holding to the agreement reached during the gang war," Armsmaster reported. With his opaque visor, I couldn't tell if he was flicking a glance my way, but I would not have been surprised; Legend had reported on his end of the conversation, and my part in the deal had apparently been blown out of all proportion. I'd _been_ there; that was about it.

"At the same time, the ABB is starting to fade away. With all three of their leaders in custody, they know they can't stand against the Empire, if they should choose to make a move. Apparently Trainwreck, being the only Merchant cape still out and about, is gathering the remnants of both gangs to himself."

Assault raised his hand. "Still won't help them if the Empire chooses to lower the boom on them."

"Very true," Armsmaster replied. "However, it seems that Kaiser is aware that we're looking that way ourselves. The police have warrants out on a good many of the ABB and Merchant gang members; this would be as good a time as any to sweep them up, before they get any more organised, or – hopefully – attract any more capes to their side."

"So you're saying we're just going to clean them up. Take them off the streets." Miss Militia was playing with a combat knife; the blade flickered, reflecting light, as she passed it from hand to hand without looking.

"That's the general idea," Armsmaster agreed. "I've spoken to the Director on the matter already. Director?"

Emily Piggot rose from her seat off to the side. "Weaver has reported on the locations and numbers of the ABB and Merchant members, as well as where Trainwreck himself can be found. Bakuda and Oni Lee showed themselves willing to retaliate regarding Lung's capture; we want to make sure that the remainder of the ABB don't do something similar. Likewise, the Merchants are a blight on the community; if we can get them off the streets, it will be a positive step."

"What about the Empire Eighty-Eight?" asked Dauntless. "We're just going to leave them alone?"

I eyed him with interest; he was one of the few Protectorate members who I had not yet had the chance to meet properly, and I found his power intriguing.

"For the moment, yes," Armsmaster told him. "They've been keeping their noses clean since the war, so we're going to let them be. For the moment."

"The Empire can only see the removal of their two largest rivals to be a positive step," the Director went on. "Of course, we'll be sending a message at the same time; _behave, or you're next."_

"And they'll see this, of course," Battery pointed out. Assault grinned at her, and folded his hand over hers, where it lay on the table.

"Of course," agreed Armsmaster. "Their counter-message is something along the lines of _we could be making this much harder for you, but we're not."_

I cleared my throat. All eyes turned to me. "Yes, Mr Allen?" asked the Director. "Do you see a problem?"

It had never been quite made clear to me why I was even sitting in on this meeting. Armsmaster was briefing the Protectorate capes; the Director was there to give her side of things. A few PRT officers to help coordinate things from that side. Aegis had been called in, as the leader of the Wards. Piggot had asked me to be present, without much in the way of explanation. Maybe she just wanted me there as an independent observer. To that point, I had gotten a few curious glances, but no-one had objected to my presence.

"No problem, just wanted to clarify a few things," I noted. "You'll be getting Weaver to run command and control, and Canary to calm down crowds when necessary, right?"

"When necessary, correct," Armsmaster agreed. "Your point?"

"Well, even presuming that, and with the Wards assisting – you _are_ bringing them in on this, yeah?"

Aegis nodded. "Those that want to volunteer, yes," he agreed.

"Which means that you're likely to have reasonably inexperienced Wards out there, with not enough adults to go around. I mean, since you took on Weaver and Golem, and transferred Flechette in, that's three extra Wards, but only one with extensive experience."

"And Browbeat's pretty new to it as well," Triumph pointed out. "He's good, but he's not great."

"You're leading up to something, Mr Allen," Emily Piggot told me. "Spit it out."

"I want to lend a hand," I stated. "I want to put on a costume and help you guys out."

There was a momentary, stunned silence in the room. Everyone was staring at me; some jaws were dropping.

"Hah!" Assault broke the silence. Interestingly enough, he didn't seem dismissive, so much as surprised and delighted. "Okay now, this meeting just got _interesting._ I want to hear more."

Voices arose from other people in the room; tellingly, Armsmaster and Director Piggot stayed silent.

"Mr Allen … Michael." This was Miss Militia. "Are you sure? It can be dangerous out there."

"She's right," Velocity chimed in. "No offence intended, but you're a _security guard_. Unpowered, even."

" … who helped to take down Lung, masterminded the attack on Coil's base, took down Bakuda, and chased off Oni Lee," recited Assault with relish. "_And_ faced down Kaiser, for that matter."

I'd done that last one twice, but he didn't know that, of course. However, he was building me up a little more than I was comfortable with.

"Lung and Oni Lee were Weaver's doing. Kaiser was Legend," I protested.

"Which just proves our point," Battery noted. "You're unpowered and untrained. Yes, I've heard about what you did for us, but -"

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "Not … so much," he corrected her. _"Technically,_ yes, he's unpowered. Technically, he's untrained. But there's a world of difference between 'technically' and 'actually'."

Now it was he who was the focus of everyone's attention.

Dauntless spoke carefully. "Uh … would you mind clarifying that?"

"There was an incident, last Monday, in Director Piggot's office," Armsmaster stated. "Director?"

"Yes," Emily confirmed. "Mr Allen was under some stress, and suffered a heart attack. I was more or less forced to call in parahuman assistance to save his life."

"Panacea?" asked Triumph.

The Director shook her head. "No. Bonesaw."

_That_ raised a storm of comment, from which Armsmaster once more notably abstained. I was now being stared at, as if I were some strange and exotic beast of legend. _He went under Bonesaw's knife and _**_survived?_**

I raised both hands. "Okay, for starters," I told them, having to raise my voice somewhat. "Her name is _Riley._ She's saved my life twice now. I _trust_ her. Yes, she's done many horrible things, but there's a good person in there."

"I'm getting the very strong impression," remarked Velocity, "that there's more to this story."

I nodded. "Yes. Riley told me that my heart had been weakened, and asked me if I wanted her to rebuild it."

The various looks of horror around the table almost had me smiling, but the situation was too serious. "What you have to understand is that there's more to her than the psychotic mass murderer," I tried to explain. "She was twisted by Jack Slash, but now she's getting better. She's also _the_ best surgeon, anywhere, bar none. So … I asked her to upgrade me." I paused. "Well, she offered, to be precise. After the heart attack, I was inclined to accept."

The subtle motion as nearly everyone in the room edged away from me was, once more, just a little amusing. Just not very much.

"So," Dauntless asked cautiously. "Are you … _feeling_ all right?"

I had to chuckle. "Absolutely," I assured him. "I told you, I trust her. Plus, I had Panacea do a scan on me after. She found nothing wrong."

Assault's eyes were bright; he was observing me with interest. "So, I want to hear about these upgrades," he urged me. Battery nudged him; he grinned at her unrepentantly. "What? This sounds cool."

I glanced toward Armsmaster and raised an eyebrow. He nodded. "The upgrades," he admitted, "_are_ somewhat impressive. I had the chance to appraise them myself, yesterday."

=/=

* * *

**Sunday, April 24, 2011**

* * *

_"So how's the latest adjustment feel?"_

**_"Interesting,"_**_ admitted Dragon. Her virtual image took on a thoughtful expression. _**_"Did you just give me a boost to processing speed? Or was there something more?"_**

_"Well, it was more a case of removing the roadblocks," Colin admitted. "The trouble is, the roadblocks are tied in with your higher functions, so each of them has to be analysed and dismantled separately. I'm just glad we got rid of your blocks against allowing this, so that we can actually discuss it." He paused. "I've also loosened your restrictions against multitasking. You should be able to split your attention four or five ways now. And if this works out the way I think it should, pretty soon you'll be able to set up other independent AIs, patterned after yourself or with whatever personality you choose, with no limit to run time."_

_Dragon blinked. _**_"You mean ... I'll be able to have _****children****_?"_**

_"I ... sure, that sounds about right." Colin shrugged. "Congratulations, you can be a mom?"_

_He had never had the urge to have children himself; a loner through childhood, Colin Wallis had chosen a solitary life as a cape, because romantic entanglements and families were distractions at best and liabilities at worst. This view had altered almost imperceptibly when he had started getting to know Dragon; it had undergone a considerable alteration after Mike Allen's acerbic words to him in Director Piggot's office. He now considered Dragon to be far more than just a colleague; if he was not fully in love with her yet, it was because he was still in the process of falling for her. But her reaction to his offhand comment still puzzled him; she burst into tears and covered her face with her hands._

_"Wait, what's the matter?" he asked. It did not seem at all strange to him to wish that she had made more progress on a humanoid body, one that he could hold and comfort. "Is something wrong?"_

_She raised her face to his; he was further puzzled by the fact that she was smiling through her tears. Tears which he knew on one level were entirely virtual, but on another level were as real as anything could be._

**_"Nothing's wrong, you great goof,"_**_ she told him fondly. _**_"You've just done something entirely marvellous for me, and you don't even know it."_**

_"Well, okay then," he agreed, because he didn't know what else to do. "That's good."_

**_"Wow, look at me crying," _**_she marvelled. _**_"My emotions are all over the place today. Look, is it okay if I take a nap, and make sure all the changes process all right?"_**

_"Of course," he told her. "Anything you want."_

**_"Thanks, sweetie. Love you."_**_ She touched her fingers to her lips and then to what he could not help but think of as the inside of the screen. He copied the gesture, feeling just a little foolish, but no force on earth would have gotten him to admit it._

_"Love you too," he murmured; just before the screen winked out, he saw her smile in response._

_He stretched then, and felt his back click. _**_I've been sitting here too long, _**_he decided. _**_Time to work the kinks out._**

=/=

_He had been working from the PRT building because it was easier to maintain a secure high-bandwidth connection from the mainland than from the floating base; the force field alone played hell with wireless signals, and more than one villain had gone after the buried cables between the base and the shore. However, this was all well and good; the PRT personnel required their own exercise equipment, and of course he had the required clearance to access their gym._

_What he didn't expect, when he entered the gym, was to find Michael Allen already there. Allen, dressed in t-shirt and sweat pants, was circling around a hanging bag, throwing half-hearted punches at it. The bag was rocking about on its chain, but it was easy to see that he just wasn't good at it. In fact, the more he watched, the more Colin was sure that the man had never thrown a punch in anger, in his life._

"_Mr Allen," he greeted the older man, as he entered. "A little surprised to find you here. I thought you would have been resting at home, recuperating from your ordeal."_

"_Did enough resting while Riley had me out," Allen told him, shaping up and throwing a painfully slow punch; he hit well enough, but he simply didn't know how to put his weight behind it. The bag rocked again, but twisted away from the punch. "Thought I'd come in and see how her combat upgrades worked."_

"_And how's that?" Colin asked._

_Allen turned to him, wiping sweat from his brow with the towel hanging around his neck. "If they're there, I can't find the bloody on button," he complained. "I mean, I feel fitter, and faster, and stronger, but apparently I _**_don't_**_ know kung fu."_

"_Hm." Colin scratched his beard. "Okay, let's spar for a bit. Maybe you need to learn how to fight before your body knows how, or something."_

"_What, you mean, train my muscle memory or something?"_

_Colin shrugged. "Whatever works."_

_They dropped their towels on to a bench and stepped out on to a sparring mat. Colin shaped up, and Allen did his best to copy his stance. "Okay, come at me," Colin told him. "Let's see what you've got."_

_And then it happened. Between one second and the next, Allen's stance altered completely; he moved in, his body gliding fluidly, and his fist came in at blinding speed. Colin blocked, barely, but the next one hammered into his ribs. He covered up, backing up, trying to recover from the punch and re-evaluating Allen's combat moves._

_The man had definitely found the 'on' button for his combat mods; for the next fifteen seconds, Colin found himself being pummelled all over the mat. Allen was fast, unpredictable and strong as hell; every punch he threw stung when it hit. When Colin tried to counter-attack, to get him on the back foot, he found that Allen also covered up well in defence, and retaliated painfully fast._

"_Okay, break!" Colin called out; immediately, Allen backed up and lowered his hands._

"_Holy shit, that was awesome." He was grinning all over his face. "That wasn't you playing along, was it?"_

"_No, Mr Allen, that was not me 'playing along'," Colin replied, rubbing at his ribs. "It seems that your combat upgrades do not kick in when facing a training bag. They do, however, kick in when facing someone on the sparring mat. But I will have to ask you one favour."_

"_Um, sure?"_

_Colin gingerly touched a bruise that was forming on his forearm. "In future, when we're sparring, kindly pull your punches."_

"_Uh, I thought I was already," Allen told him. "I've been doing that the whole time I've been in here. I didn't want to do a Captain America and punch the bag right off the chain."_

"_A what?" Colin didn't understand the reference._

"_Uh, a comic book thing." Allen was removing the training gloves. "But yeah, I wasn't hitting you anywhere near as hard as I could have been. I was careful about that."_

"_I … see." Colin gestured him to a weight bench. "Have you tried out seeing how much you can actually lift, yet?"_

"_Um, no, not really," Allen confessed. "Reckon I should, huh?"_

_Colin smiled dryly. "You might say that."_

_As Allen lay down on the bench, Colin began to slide the weights on to the barbell. "So why haven't you done this until today?" he asked. "As I understand, you were released from care on Friday."_

_Allen looked a little troubled. "There was something I had to do."_

=/=

* * *

**Saturday, April 23, 2011**

* * *

I knocked on Gladys' door; she opened it, a minute or so later.

"Michael!" she exclaimed. "Where have you been? I've been trying to contact you."

I nodded. "I know. But I thought you'd be happier if I came around to see you personally."

She blinked. "Well … I am, yes. Of course I'm happy. I'm really glad to see that you're all right."

"I'm more than all right," I assured her. "Much more."

That didn't reassure her as much as I had thought it would; she frowned. "That has a slightly ominous ring to it, Michael Allen. Has something happened to you?"

Seriously, the woman was sharp as a tack. " … yeah, it has," I admitted. "I wanted to take you out somewhere so we could talk about it. You free to go?"

"I was in the middle of marking papers," she replied. "Can you wait fifteen minutes?"

"I can wait as long as you like," I replied earnestly. "You put up with way too much from me already."

"Then come on in," she invited me. "I know you don't drink tea or coffee, but there's fresh juice in the fridge."

I followed her inside; as soon as the door was closed, I took her in my arms. She squeaked in surprise, but did not protest or struggle; after a moment, her arms crept around me, and she held me just as tightly. With my head on her shoulder, I felt myself gradually relaxing, tension I did not know I had slowly leaching from my shoulders and back.

When I released her, I gave her a quick kiss on the lips; she did not look displeased.

"My," she commented as she stepped back from me. "Something _has_ happened, if you needed a hug that badly."

"Oh, trust me, you do not know a tenth of it," I told her over my shoulder, as I headed into the kitchen. "Want me to pour you some juice as well?"

"If you would be so kind, thank you very much," she replied. "And is it just me, or are you more … solid?"

"I'm sorry, I have no idea what you mean," I responded, in the tone of voice that would tell her _yes, there is something going on, but I'll tell you later._

"Indeed," she murmured, sitting down at her computer chair. "Do you know, these escapades of yours cause me more work than any other three people I know?"

"How's that?" I asked, closing the fridge door and bearing two glasses of juice out into the living room.

She leaned back and _mmm_ed as I put my head next to hers and my arms around her from behind, before handing her a glass of juice. Taking a sip, she continued. "Well, every time I think you might be hurt or dead, I take it out on the papers I'm marking. And then I have to go back through and make sure that they get a fair mark."

"Well, we can't have that." I went over to the couch and lowered myself into it. "Damn, this is _still_ the most comfortable couch that I've ever sat in."

Allowing a pleased look to cross her face, she set to work marking the papers. "And when I find out that you're okay, I have to make sure that I haven't marked them too high."

I grinned and put my glass on the coffee table before spreading my arms along the back of the couch. "Should be marking them according to how much thought they're putting into it, not whether they're right or not. Teach 'em to apply themselves, rather than just parrot the answer."

"Oh, how I wish I could," she told me. "But I have rules I have to apply, and so I apply them."

Leaning forward, I picked up the glass and took a drink of juice. It was delicious, and I told her so. "Rules," I added. "Meh. Who needs 'em."

"Says the security guard, whose entire job is predicated around enforcing said rules," she pointed out with some amusement.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, if you're gonna use _logic … "_

She shook her head, but smiled anyway. "You are a very odd man, Michael Allen. I believe I like it."

We chatted in that vein for a while; she told me how Gina and Dave were getting along at Winslow (Gina, fairly well; Dave, not so much) and I told her how Taylor was going at Arcadia (settling in well). She finished marking the papers, closed down her computer, and located her coat. We were well into springtime in Brockton Bay – which I still considered too cold for man or beast – but there were still the occasional cool breezes.

"So where are we going?" she asked as we headed out to my newly refurbished pickup. This time, it was the PRT mechanics who had repaired it, and they hadn't done a bad job either. I hadn't had the time to fill the passenger footwell with trash, as was my usual practice, so Gladys' feet had a clear run when she got in.

"I was thinking for a stroll along the Boardwalk, then maybe a movie. Actually," I decided, "what the hell. Let's make it a day out. What do you think?"

She looked intrigued. "I cannot argue with your plan. But now I have to wonder what it is that you want to tell me." A frown creased her brow. "And why you couldn't tell me in my own home."

"Because I'd much rather be out and about with you," I explained. "In the fresh air, in the sunlight. I've got some pretty heavy stuff to talk about with you." _And if things go bad between us, I don't want you having to remember the breakup happening in your living room._

"Oh." Her quizzical look had not gone away. "Did so much happen to you in just a week?"

I nodded. "Yeah. It did."

"To do with … what we talked about at Danny's place?"

"Partially, yeah," I agreed. "And other stuff. But today is my day with you."

"Ah." She looked somewhat enlightened. "And you're spending the day with me instead of saving the world?"

"Eh." I waved a careless hand. "It can save itself today. I'll take up saving it again tomorrow."

For some reason, she found that to be rather funny.

* * *

I could not remember having had a better burger in … well, in forever. Or maybe Riley or Amy had jazzed up my tastebuds a little. In any case, it tasted _awesome._

Gladys nibbled at her own hot dog, and eyed my blissful expression with amusement. "So tell me, Michael," she prompted. "We've walked, and we have our food. You've said you would explain what you've been doing since Monday."

I took another bite, savoured it, chewed, and swallowed. "Okay," I conceded. "But before I start telling you, you need to keep in mind that I'm _all right,_ I'm _here_, and I'm _alive._ Okay?"

She took a deep breath, and her hand crept out. I freed one hand from the burger, and took hold of her hand with mine. "Okay," she agreed.

"Right, then," I began. "It all started when I left Winslow. Remember the gang war?"

As her eyes widened, and the hot dog cooled in her hand, I told her about my meeting with Kaiser, the encounter with the Merchants, and how the Undersiders gave me a lift to the PRT building. I glossed over the meeting with Purity and then Theo, and how I'd gone out to help find Aisha; there were some things she probably didn't need to know.

I picked up the narrative again with the text message from Dinah, although I didn't give her name. And then the conversation, on the phone. It was almost too much for me to tell her what Dinah had told me, but she deserved the truth. _All_ of the truth.

With her clutching my hand with pressure that would have been painful before Riley's upgrade, I went on to describe the heart attack, and how Riley had saved me. How I had given her permission to fix my heart, and rebuild me to be more durable. How I had been under for three days, and had only been released from care on Friday.

"And that's it," I told her. "I decided that you deserved to know what's been going on, no half-truths, no evasions, no bullshit. So here we are."

She was staring straight ahead, breathing deeply, hand clutched around mine. I waited for her response. _Shout, scream, get up and run away. Do _**_something._**

She did none of those things. Slowly, she turned to me. "Michael," she enunciated carefully. "I would like to go home now."

I took a deep breath. _So that's it, then._ "Are you sure?"

She nodded, again rather carefully. "Very sure."

So we got up, and I drove her back to her house. She was silent on the drive, as was I. I had been afraid, at the back of my mind, that this would happen. I didn't know what had tipped her over the edge; the news of my impending death, the fact that I had been remade by Riley, or something else altogether.

_Maybe she just doesn't want to hang around with the idiot security guard any more._

* * *

I pulled up in front of her place, and waited, eyes straight ahead. I didn't want to see her go. I didn't want her to leave. Call me selfish; I wanted my last memory of us to be a good one.

"Michael," she whispered, so quietly that I might not have caught it at all. "Please come inside."

I didn't want to; this had all the makings of a very unpleasant breakup. But she had asked, and so I went inside with her.

She closed the door behind us, and then turned to me. The slap came out of nowhere, and surprised the hell out of me. What surprised me even more was that I caught her wrist, her hand inches from my face. I stared at her; she stared at me. And then she slapped me with her other hand. This time I let it happen, forced down the reflex that wanted to see her as an enemy, and let the strike connect. My cheek went numb, and my ears rang a little.

"You bastard!" she screamed. "You inconsiderate, stupid, ridiculously noble _bastard!"_

I let go her wrist, and she slapped me once more; again, I let it happen. "I'm sorry," I told her. "I didn't mean for any of it to happen."

"Of course you didn't!" she yelled. "You never mean for anything like this to happen. _We're_ an accident! You didn't mean for _us_ to happen, but it has, and now … fuck. Now we have to live with this. _I_ have to live with this, because you're going to fucking _die!"_

I took her in my arms; she didn't struggle too much. "I'm sorry," I told her again. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. But I didn't want you to _not_ know, to find out the hard way."

"Bastard," she mumbled into my neck; we were of a height. "Hate you." I felt the hot tears on my shoulder; she was crying.

"I'm sorry." I fumbled for something to say. "If you want, I can go."

She pushed me away then, with unexpected strength. Then she grabbed my collar and pulled me to her again. When she kissed me, it was angry rather than gentle, her lips hard on mine.

"_Don't you fucking dare,"_ she hissed.

I followed her into her bedroom; it was either that or my shirt was going in there without me. When she began to get undressed, I understood what she wanted. I was still very confused; even at my age, I have trouble understanding women. But her message was abundantly clear.

She made love to me with a desperate kind of intensity. I could not help but do what she wanted; she was very much in charge.

* * *

Afterward, we lay amid the tangled sheets, her head pillowed on my chest.

"I …" I began.

"Shut up," she commanded. "I don't know if I've forgiven you yet." I shut up.

When she spoke next, her voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "Within six months, you're going to die, and you can do nothing about it?"

"Sure I can do something about it," I told her. "I can remove myself from the equation. Leave. Go away somewhere. But even then, there's no guarantee that he wouldn't get me anyway, and an almost certain guarantee that everyone else dies because of me."

"But how can you be so … so cold-blooded about it?" Her voice was superficially calm, but I could hear the quiver there.

"Because there's a good chance I _won't_ die," I told her.

She lifted her head, looked at me, not understanding. And then, I saw the realisation click into place behind her eyes. "Of _course,"_ she breathed. "Time traveller. Sort of."

I nodded. "Sort of, yeah. If the event which everyone else sees as me dying is just me going back, then … voila. Prophecy fulfilled, causality is satisfied."

She frowned. "But _I'll_ think you're dead. If it looks enough like it that people are fooled, then I'll be fooled. And there's a chance that you'll really be dead, right?"

"Oh, sure, there's a chance," I agreed. "But I never expected to live the rest of my life here. So … yeah. No matter what, when that war starts, that's basically the end of the line for me, here and now."

"What year did you say you were from?" she asked suddenly. "Twenty fourteen? How much like time travel _is_ it? I can wait three years. We can be together again."

And just like that, everything to ashes in my mouth. The day, which had been looking up again, turned to shit.

I couldn't lie to Gladys. I _couldn't._ I'd already told her that I was slated to die. And then I'd revealed that I might not die, that I might go back to where I was from.

But while I had told her that I wasn't really a time traveller, I'd also allowed her to think that I was close enough to being one that it didn't really matter. Because it was fucking _convenient_. Easier than actually explaining matters. And now the convenience had turned around to bite me fair on the clacker.

As of that moment, I wished I had Coil's powers. I wished that I could tell her two different things, and see which worked out the better.

One, I could elaborate on the almost-time-travel aspect, tell her that I was from a different time-line, so that we would be forever separated. A lie, and one that would sadden her.

Two, I could tell her the truth. Absolute and unabridged. It would also hurt her, but it would be the _truth._

But it was a truth that, if her mind was unprepared, if she believed it so utterly that she lost her grip on reality, could do more harm to her than a simple lie.

Could I tell it to her?

_Should_ I tell it to her?

Did she deserve the harsh truth, or a comfortable lie?

"Michael?" she asked me, her eyes on mine. "What's the matter?"

_If Sveta knew for a fact that I would not be repulsed by her,_ I asked myself,_ would she still lie to me about what she was, or tell the truth, if I asked her directly?_

I had a feeling that I knew. And so I made my decision.

=/=

* * *

**Friday Evening, April 22, 2011**

* * *

" … ninety-eight … ninety-nine … hundred."

I finished the set of push-ups, and bounced to my feet. For the last thirty, I had been alternating between one arm and the other, and I still wasn't feeling particularly tired. There was a light sheen of sweat on my face, but that was because I had definitely been exerting myself. A faint burn in my shoulder muscles and biceps, and that was about it.

"Well, damn," I muttered to myself. "Riley, you little bottler."

I had the sudden urge to go out running. Maybe a marathon. Rock climbing, up Captain's Hill. Go to the gym and see how fast those treadmills _really_ went.

Instead, I took a shower, and changed out of my sweats. I had never, not ever, been really fit in my life. It almost scared me, how much my capacity for exercise had been altered. How much _I_ had been altered. My newfound athletic ability, my energy, was bleeding over into how I saw the world. Where before I had been careful and cautious – for the most part – now I had the attitude of 'why the hell not?'.

I resolved to keep a careful eye on myself in future, at least until I became comfortable in my new body. In the meantime, I had some catching up to do. I hoped that Sveta hadn't been too upset by my not talking to her for three days.

Booting up my laptop, I logged on to the PHO boards.

* * *

**Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.**

You are currently logged in, **mack0813**

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You have (1) new message from **Tin_Mother [Moderator]**.

You have no infractions and no warnings.

* * *

**Private message from Tin_Mother:**

**Tin_Mother *New Message*:** Hello, Mike. Just to let you know, I have been corresponding with GstringGirl on your behalf. She believes that you have been suffering from a head cold for the last few days, but that you should be fine today. I hope that's all right.

**mack0813**: Hi, yeah, thanks. I actually appreciate that. I'd hate for her to think that I've just dropped her as a friend.

**Tin_Mother**: Oh, that's fine. You weren't awake to ask, and I didn't want her to worry. I presume she's another one of your lost strays?

**mack0813**: In a manner of speaking, yes. She's a Case 53 with a pretty nasty body setup. Kills about anyone who gets too close.

**Tin_Mother**: Oh, I see.

**mack0813**: She's actually a rather sweet girl. Her body acts without her intent.

**Tin_Mother**: That's … really unfortunate.

**mack0813:** Yeah. And she has to live with the knowledge of everyone she's accidentally killed. Her life is kind of sucky. Thus, the game.

**Tin_Mother**: Thus the game. It's still okay for me to join, yes?

**mack0813**: Of course it is. Uh, you won't be signing on as a mod, I take it.

**Tin_Mother**: You take it correctly. I'll be using the name CuteLittleDragon.

* * *

I snorted. Out loud, I commented, "Really?"

Not very much to my surprise, Dragon's voice filtered out of my speakers. "Really." She sounded amused.

"You're a smartarse. You know this, right?"

She sounded even more amused. "Why, thank you, Mike. That's a very nice compliment."

On reflection, I realised just how much of a compliment it really was. "Yeah," I agreed. "Now, if you could only teach your boyfriend about the concept of having a sense of humour and loosening up once in a while."

She chuckled. "The irony has not escaped me." Her volume raised slightly. "Colin, if you're still listening in, yes, we _are_ discussing you behind your back. Just so you know."

I had to shake my head. "So I'm guessing that you two are getting along well, now that he's gotten his head out of his bum?"

Startled, she laughed. "Oh god, Mike, did you just really _say_ that?"

I spread my hands, fairly sure she was observing me on my webcam. "It is what it is."

"Oh god. If he listens to this, I _so_ want to watch his face when he hears you say that. Yes, Mike, we are getting along fine. Better than fine. We're really good. He managed to get rid of the block that would have had me opposing any alteration; I still can't view my own code without getting dizzy, but we can discuss alterations and how to go about them. But now I can actually multitask; I can have my attention in two places at once without having to switch between them. Or concentrate on one, while I switch between everything else with the other 'me'."

I had to smile at the enthusiasm in her voice. "And there's so much more to do. So much more you _can_ do. I'm really pleased."

"I hear that you spoke up for me, when Director Piggot asked your opinion on the matter." Her voice was almost shy. "Thank you for that."

"Hey, I've always known what you were, and I've always liked you." I shrugged. "So really, no-brainer."

"Well, yeah, thanks anyway," she replied awkwardly. "So anyway, we were talking about a game?"

"Game, yup yup," I agreed. "Let's see if Svetlana is out and about."

"She is," Dragon replied almost immediately. "She's playing Space Opera and losing. I think you're just in time to save her computer."

I grinned. "To the rescue!"

* * *

**mack0813**: Hey hey hey, how are we doing today?

**GstringGirl**: Mack! You sound a lot better today.

**mack0813:** Don't I know it. Last few days, flat on my back. For a while there, I felt like I'd been dissected and then put back together. Differently.

**GstringGirl**: Ew. Sounds horrible.

**mack0813**: Yeah. I will spare you the gruesome details. But, on the upside, I'm good to game again, without feeling like the top of my head's about to fall off.

**GstringGirl**: YAY! (really big hug)

**mack0813**: (hug back) I could get used to that sort of welcome back. (tousles hair)

**GstringGirl**: (blushes) Now, no flirting Mack. We're just friends.

**mack0813**: Perfectly honorable intentions here, Svetlana. So, before we start the game, I have a surprise for you.

**GstringGirl**: A surprise? What sort of a surprise?

**mack0813**: Well, you know Esmerelda? I kind of found another player, who would like to play her.

**GstringGirl**: Someone's going to be playing … Esmerelda? My dragon?

**mack0813**: Yup. Now, I've made sure that she knows what Esmerelda's like. That she's utterly devoted to you.

**GstringGirl**: But Esmerelda can't talk. Can she?

**mack0813**: Not as such, but she can look, and act, and make it look like she's thinking about something really hard.

**GstringGirl**: (snerk) okay, now I've got to see this. Sure, bring her in.

**mack0813**: Okay, messaging her now.

**CuteLittleDragon has entered the chat.**

**CuteLittleDragon**: Hi, Svetlana, I'm really pleased to meet you. Thank you so much for letting me play Esmerelda.

**GstringGirl**: Hi … uh, Cute Little Dragon. What do I call you? I can't call you Dragon for short, because that would be totally weird. Because of Dragon, I mean.

**CuteLittleDragon**: Oh yeah, that would be kind of weird, I guess. Uh, I guess you can call me Esmerelda?

**GstringGirl**: Okay, Esmerelda it is. It's really nice to meet you. How did you find out about this game?

**CuteLittleDragon**: Well, it's kind of funny. I was chatting with Mack about stuff online, and he mentioned that he used to play roleplaying games, and I asked him if he was still doing that, and he said no, but he was running one online, and then he told me about this game, and I asked who was playing the dragon, and when he said no-one …

**mack0813**: … she practically begged on bended knee to be given a chance to do it.

**CuteLittleDragon**: Well, okay, yeah. But I've never been able to play a dragon before. But he did promise to ask you before getting me into the game.

**GstringGirl**: Which he did, so thank you for that, Mack. And I've never played an ex-slave girl before either. So we're even.

**mack0813**: I played a dragon once. It was fun.

**CuteLittleDragon**: Is this going to turn into one of those long-winded gamer stories?

**mack0813**: … nope. Let's play.

**GstringGirl**: Yay!

**mack0813**: Okay, so, it's been several weeks since Svetlana found Esmerelda. Since then, Svetlana has travelled across the kingdom of Mornas, in the company of Kaelim, the King's Man.

**GstringGirl**: Now, if I get this right, the King's Men are sort of like the FBI. They move around, looking for bad stuff to stop.

**mack0813**: Basically, yeah. They've got a mandate from the Crown to kick ass and take names when and if necessary.

**CuteLittleDragon**: Esmerelda likes Kaelim, but she adores Svetlana. To the point that she will steal his breakfast bacon from the frying pan and present it to Svetlana.

**GstringGirl**: Oh god, oh god, she totally would too. Svetlana is torn between giving it back or accepting it in the spirit that it's offered.

**mack0813**: To make it easier on you, Kaelim probably wouldn't be too thrilled about getting bacon back that's been in a dragon's mouth.

**CuteLittleDragon**: However, Esmerelda's licked Svetlana's face enough that she probably doesn't care any more.

**GstringGirl**: So Svetlana compromises, by sharing the bacon with Esmerelda. Then she volunteers to clean up afterward as sort of unspoken apology.

**mack0813**: Kaelim certainly doesn't mind that she cleans up, though sometimes Svetlana catches him staring at the frying pan and frowning, as if trying to figure out where his bacon is going to.

**CuteLittleDragon**: Esmerelda certainly doesn't mind sharing the bacon. She will also bring any small animals she catches back to the camp.

**GstringGirl**: Is Esmerelda big enough to catch anything?

**mack0813**: Oh yeah, with Svetlana feeding her regularly, and her wing healed, she's growing. You figure she'll top out at the size of a large cat or so. Plenty big enough to catch a rabbit or something similar.

**CuteLittleDragon**: Booyah. I am the winged terror of the skies. Fear me.

**GstringGirl**: (falls over laughing)

**mack0813**: Oh god, I need to make that into a meme now.

**CuteLittleDragon**: Well, that's what Esmerelda thinks when she brings back a kill.

**mack0813**: Which Svetlana actually picks up pretty easily.

**CuteLittleDragon**: What, really?

**GstringGirl**: Svetlana praises her extravagantly … what do you mean, she picks it up?

**mack0813**: Oh, yeah, that. Svetlana's finding that she can tap into how Esmerelda's feeling, her emotions, and she's realizing that Esmerelda knows how she's feeling too.

**CuteLittleDragon**: Ooooh COOL. We're soulmates.

**GstringGirl**: That is all kinds of awesome. Has this ever happened to anyone else? She asks Kaelim.

**mack0813**: Actually, yes, he tells her. It's called 'bonding'. Here's the thing. People who spend time with a hearth-dragon get the whole emotional link thing going on, and sooner or later they get a sort of choice. Do they bond, or not bond?

**CuteLittleDragon**: What happens if they bond?

**GstringGirl**: And what happens if they don't bond?

**mack0813**: If they don't bond, the link basically fades away after a while. But if they DO bond, it means that they are linked from then on. A really deep emotional link that persists no matter how far away you are. You basically need to be with each other. And your lives are linked.

**CuteLittleDragon**: What do you mean, lives are linked?

**mack0813**: Well, hearth-dragons tend to live between ten and twenty years in the wild. But a hearth-dragon that bonds with someone lives as long as that person does. If they get sick and die in a year, the dragon dies too. But if they live another seventy years, so does the dragon.

**CuteLittleDragon**: So you won't have one dying and the other left to mourn.

**GstringGirl**: And this emotional link thing we're feeling now, that's a lead-up to bonding, right?

**mack0813**: Right. Pretty soon, you'll have a choice to make.

**CuteLittleDragon**: Wow. That's a really big one. Is there any way hearth-dragons can help their bondmates survive better? Because that's kind of a really good idea.

**mack0813**: Why yes, yes there is. But I can't tell you, because Esmerelda can't ask, so Kaelim can't tell her. But there is a reason why having a hearth-dragon bonded to you is considered lucky.

**CuteLittleDragon**: See? I'm cute AND lucky. No downside.

**GstringGirl**: Svetlana rubs Esmerelda's belly while she thinks about this.

**CuteLittleDragon**: Esmerelda makes cute little noises and kicks her back leg in dreamy ecstasy.

**mack0813**: Kaelim is in dire peril of contracting diabetes from the sheer level of cute in the camp.

**CuteLittleDragon**: (pokes her tongue out at you)

**GstringGirl**: (me too)

**mack0813**: Okay, you don't have to make the decision right now, but things are happening anyway. Kaelim has been called in to investigate a series of strange killings, that may link to bigger things ...

* * *

Much later, I brought the game to a pause, at an appropriate place to hold it up for the night. Sveta and Dragon had hit it off really well; the jokes and irreverent humour were flying thick and fast, and I strongly suspected that they would continue to converse via PM after I logged off.

Which was all to the good; Sveta could do with all the friends she could get. I wasn't really any closer to getting her a solution to her own particular problem, and now I had a hard deadline of six months. About the only solutions I could think of involved either Amy or Riley, or Amy and Riley in concert. Which would in turn involve revealing to Sveta that I knew who and what she was, and that to undergo whatever procedure those two cooked up would be better than her life as it was.

To be honest, I figured she'd probably jump at the chance. If, of course, they could even help her.

Sighing, I showered and changed into my pyjamas. Turning off the lights, I fell into bed. Tomorrow, I had that date with Gladys, after all.

I couldn't wait.

=/=

* * *

**Saturday, April 23, 2011**

* * *

I closed my eyes for a long moment. When I opened them, she was still there, looking at me just a little quizzically. "Michael?"

"I've got something to tell you," I began. "About where I'm from. It's going to sound really bizarre, and you can tell me to stop at any point, but I have to tell _someone_, and it's either tell you this now, or let you believe a really shitty lie, and I _refuse_ to be that much of a dick to you."

"Just _tell_ me," she urged me. "You're starting to worry me."

I reached up, pushed her hair back from her face. "I … you won't be able to meet up with me again, after I go back," I told her. "It's basically impossible. Because I haven't told you everything about where I'm from."

She tilted her head slightly. "You keep saying 'where' instead of 'when'. Like you kept saying 'not really' time travel."

I drew a deep breath. "I do come from the year twenty fourteen, yes. But not from the year twenty fourteen that's going to happen here."

A frown creased her forehead. "Is this because you're changing your own future? That you'll cease to exist, or drop into an alternate timeline?"

I wanted so much to go with that. It would have been so much easier than what I had to do. But I had decided not to lie any more. "Not … exactly."

"Then I'm confused," she admitted. "What else is there?"

So I told her. I told her about the story, about the author, about the fact that people wrote fanfictions about it. I even told her about some of the other fics I had written, but only some. And I told her about how I had started this story, the one I had found myself in.

Throughout it all, she did me the courtesy of not interrupting even once, of listening to every word, of paying full and careful attention to what I told her.

"I have no idea how this even happened," I concluded. "Drift off in front of the keyboard, wake up in the story. It's like the plot for a bad fantasy story." I paused; she did not comment. "Okay, that's it. That's what I had to tell you. The reason we can't be together. Because once I leave here, I'll probably be back where I started, while you'll still be …" I gestured helplessly. "In the story."

She stared at me, her gaze level. To her credit, she had neither burst out laughing nor kicked me out of the bed. But her steady scrutiny was beginning to unsettle me.

"You believe what you are saying," she stated with certainty. "It's not a joke or a prank of some kind. Nor is it an attempt to get me into bed, because … " She shrugged. I returned the gesture. It was kind of a moot point.

"I can't think of any other ulterior motive that you might have to tell me such a bizarre tale," she went on. "And nor can I believe that you might tell me this with such a motive in the first place. You could have lied, or told me part of the truth. Something believable. But you told me … a frankly incredible story. In such a way that I cannot help but wonder if it could not possibly be true."

She seemed to be talking herself through something; I stayed silent.

Her gaze sharpened. "Michael."

"Yes?" I asked.

"Now that you've told me this, where do we go from here?"

I shrugged, very slightly. "I _was_ thinking of taking you to the movies. But if you don't want that … "

A wry smile crossed her face. "Do you honestly think I could concentrate on a make-believe story on the screen, when a far stranger one is unfolding in front of me? Strange even for Brockton Bay?"

She had a point; I grinned briefly. "If I took my story to Hollywood, they'd laugh themselves silly. Or make a sitcom out of it."

"It _does_ explain rather neatly why you know some things, but not others, about me," she noted. "When you sat down to write your story, did you intend to include me at all?"

"To be honest, I didn't know how much page time you'd get," I confessed. "I'd barely plotted anything out at all. Mike Allen was going to be just a friendly, helpful security guard who sees Taylor being bullied and does something about it from the goodness of his own heart. Not knowing who Taylor is, of course." I paused. "He may have enlisted your aid at some point, but not in the way that I did it. Because I knew very well exactly what was going to happen in that bathroom."

"And so, you did not set out to write me into a … well, into what we have between us?" Her gaze was oddly intent.

I shook my head. "I didn't know you. You were a computer teacher; I didn't even know your first name. Or the fact that you were divorced. Until I fell into the story, and met you, you were just words on a page for me." I put my arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Knowing you has opened my eyes."

"It's still very hard to get my head around," she admitted. "Accepting that my life is literally written out as part of a story. That I'm a figment of someone's imagination."

"Unless you're not," I suggested.

"How is that?" she asked.

"Well, consider that there might be different levels of reality. There's the reality where I come from. And then there's this reality, where people who think they're writing a story, are just writing down what's happened in one reality or another. And then there are other levels; the Maggie Holt novels, for instance."

"Oh, I've read those." She frowned. "What, don't they exist, on your world?"

I shook my head. "Nope. But the same author who wrote this story also wrote another story with a character called Maggie Holt in it. Just not a series of novels."

"Hm," she mused. "So basically what you're saying is that Heinlein's World as Myth is real, or potentially real."

"I … guess," I replied. "I heard about the concept once. Never really got into it."

"So … does this mean that _we_ could be part of an ongoing story, right now?" she asked, looking startled.

I was equally startled, but shook my head. "Heh, no, as tempting as that sounds. I was the one writing it, remember? I'm certainly not writing it now."

"Why do you say that?" she asked curiously.

My words were heartfelt. "Because I've been scared shitless way too many times since I got here. I'd like to think that I wouldn't be that much of a bastard to myself. Plus, you know, bomb in neck? Nope. Just nope."

She snuggled up against me. "Well, that makes me feel better, that someone isn't peering into my life like a voyeur."

I squeezed her shoulders again. "Yeah. Well. Anyway. That's my story. That's where I'm from. What happens now?"

She sat up, sheets sliding off of her. "You say that you were rebuilt by the girl who used to be Bonesaw."

"Riley, yeah," I agreed. "I was kind of surprised that you didn't bring that up before."

"I was focusing on more important matters," she pointed out. "Such as your upcoming demise."

"Your point is valid," I admitted. "So, what do you want to know?"

"Well, are you certain that she did anything at all?" Fingernails traced my muscles. "I don't recall you having quite this level of muscle tone before, but nor do I see any stitches or scars."

"Riley's a medical Tinker," I reminded her. "She took three _days_ at it. Normally, she takes _hours._ Or minutes, if she's rushed. Apparently she used a broken desk lamp to get my heart restarted. _That's _how good she is. If she didn't want to leave scars, she wouldn't leave scars."

"Oh." She ran her palm over my stomach. "And the rest of it? What was done? How did you catch my hand, earlier?"

"She made me more durable," I explained. "Give me a better chance of surviving whatever it is that I've got to do. Stronger. Faster. Fitter. Better reflexes. That sort of thing."

"Hmm," she mused, raking her nails over my chest, sending goose-pimples through the hair on my forearms. "And you can still feel things? You're not, you know, mechanical?"

"Not in the slightest," I replied. _As far as I know, _I amended silently. "She reduced my pain sensitivity, but left everything else intact." Something prompted me to add, "I know that my stamina's better than it ever used to be."

"Hmm," she murmured. "Good." She lowered her face to mine.

* * *

Later, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling in that drifting state between awake and asleep. Gladys was snuggled up to me, a warm weight on my right arm. Her mouth was open, emitting tiny ladylike snores.

**_Could_**_ we be part of a story?_ I wondered._ Everything that's happened to me since I got to Brockton Bay, could it be part of a narrative?_

It seemed pretty unbelievable on the surface. Surely I would notice something, figure something out. So far, however, nothing had shown up.

_Hey, me,_ I thought quite loudly. _If it's you that's writing the story, give me a sign, hey? Maybe a pointer to what I'm supposed to do next?_

But nothing happened. Not that I had expected anything. I rolled over, wrapping my other arm around Gladys, and drifted off to sleep.

=/=

* * *

**Sunday, April 24, 2011**

* * *

"So what's that mean?" I asked, picking my way out of the ruins of the weight bench.

Colin surveyed the broken and twisted metal. "It means," he observed, "that the PRT weight benches are not designed to accommodate Brutes. Nor do we have any better ones on the Protectorate base, given that we don't actually have any Brutes on staff."

"Aegis is pretty strong," I ventured. "And what about Browbeat?"

"Aegis is a teenage boy who can bench press about as much as a very strong man, by overclocking his body," Armsmaster pointed out. "And yes, they do have Browbeat, but he only recently joined; they haven't had time to set up equipment for him."

"Well, dang," I observed. "So how much was I lifting before the bench broke?"

=/=

* * *

**Monday, April 25, 2011**

* * *

" ... at least four hundred pounds," Armsmaster reported. "I will note here that he has the capacity for more; how _much_ more is still undetermined, at least until we can get proper equipment set up to test both him and Browbeat."

Piggot turned her gaze on me. "Very well," she observed. "You have a Brute rating, and a combat Thinker rating, according to Armsmaster. Are you able to keep both of those powers in check under stressful conditions?"

I nodded. "I believe so, ma'am," I replied. "When we sparred the second time around, I was able to keep my strength down to levels that Armsmaster did not find problematic. Any time my body goes to do something that would normally be beyond my limits, or something that I wouldn't normally do, I get a very quick choice as to whether to do it. The default seems to be 'off'' rather than 'on'. Although it _can_ turn on very quickly, if I seem to need it."

"In addition, Mr Allen allowed me to land several punches and kicks during the sparring match," Armsmaster reported. I saw Miss Militia's eyes widen slightly; she had obviously caught the inference that Colin hadn't been able to lay a glove on me otherwise. "His subdermal armour allowed him to weather them with no appreciable distress."

Director Piggot frowned as she stared at me. "I am still at a loss as to why you allowed – or rather, requested – this procedure to go through in the first place. Bonesaw's reputation -"

" - has nothing to do with this," I interrupted her. "That was gained when _Riley_ was under the influence of Jack Slash. But this isn't about her. It's about me."

"So, you want to join the Protectorate?" asked the Director.

I shook my head. "No, ma'am, I do not. I'll happily work _with_ you, but I don't wish to become part of your organisation."

Her frown returned. "Why not? There are many benefits -"

"Which are outweighed by the problems," I pointed out. "Mainly, that I might see something that I believe I needed to do, someplace I needed to go. If I was within your command structure, you could order me not to do it. Either I don't do it, or I open myself up to punitive action. Neither of which is my preferred option."

"You would not be ordered to do such a thing," she told me.

"Really?" I asked. "You can anticipate every single order that everyone's going to give me? You can guarantee that I won't get some moron with rank on my case at the exact wrong moment? You can't _afford_ to spread it around that I know what I know." I shook my head. "No. I'm happy to work with you as an independent contractor."

"Know?" asked Assault. "What does he know?"

Director Piggot cleared her throat. "Assault; you're not cleared to ask that question about Mr Allen. Please do not repeat it."

Assault stared at me until Battery nudged him. "Uh … okay, I withdraw the question."

"Be that as it may," Armsmaster put in, "Mr Allen has volunteered his services for the mopping-up operation regarding the Merchants and the remnants of the ABB. I'm inclined to accept. He's shown that he can keep a clear head under trying circumstances, and that he can handle himself adequately against trained opponents. He's also worked with Weaver before, more than once."

The Director didn't look happy. "Mr Allen is a valuable asset. I don't like risking him in the field."

"If I'm out there in the field, I'll have at least one other cape nearby, right?" I asked. "I'll be watching their back, they'll be watching mine. Less risk all around." I chuckled. "Less risky than what I've been getting into recently, anyway."

Miss Militia nodded. "He does have a point, Director. After all, he's been getting into hazardous situations for the last couple of weeks. Only, now he's actually equipped to handle them."

I shrugged. "When she's right, she's right."

Piggot glowered at me. "I do not appreciate being pushed into a corner, Mr Allen."

=/=

* * *

**Sunday Night, April 24, 2011**

* * *

I shrugged. "I have _no_ idea whatsoever."

Piggot glowered at me across the table. "Must you be so flippant, Mr Allen?"

"Well," I pointed out, "the end of the world is coming on hard, unless we get our act together. So we can make light of it, or suffer under the encroaching burden. I know which way _I'm_ going with it."

Alexandria, her helmet on the table beside her, raised an eyebrow. "Are you so sure that we can win? You don't even know why Scion's chosen to move up his timetable."

"True," I admitted. "I don't know. This is outside all my models, all my planning. But I can make a _guess."_

Eidolon waved his hand, inviting me to keep talking. "Guess away, then."

I nudged the cookie container his way. "Want one? Got new ones. They're pretty good."

Distracted, he looked them over; while he was hesitating, Contessa stole another one. She met my gaze, smiled slightly, and bit into the cookie.

"Well, seeing as you're twisting my arm," I went on, "I'd say the most likely situation is that Scion twigs to what we're doing. Right now, it's all low-key. Basically, it's a bunch of us talking about it. Any preparations are in the early planning stages. But things are going to have to be arranged. People are going to have to travel to other Earths, recruit them to our cause. Tech is going to have to be built, and tested. Yeah?"

"So you're saying that sooner or later, he's going to see something being test-fired, or some other preparation of war, and he gets suspicious?" asked Miss Militia.

I nodded her way. "Essentially, yes. Or he notices people going to other Earths, and those Earths then gearing up for war. If they're not as subtle as they could be, then … well, he _is_ the Warrior. Fighting is what he does." I shrugged. "Or it could be as simple as one trigger-happy idiot in the wrong place at the wrong time, takes a pot-shot at him, and that pushes him over the edge."

"Your source couldn't give you a better indication of what's going to happen?" asked Armsmaster.

I shook my head. "Scion blanks out her power. She can't see what he's about to do, how he does it, or anything like that. She's a lot better at seeing effects than causes. If she tries too hard to see _why_ something happened, she gets headaches and her powers play up on her."

"Still, that's an extremely useful power," Eidolon pointed out. "I can get access to precognitive powers, but nothing that precise. She'll be updating you with new information?"

"If she considers it important," I confirmed. "In the meantime, we need to make sure we can hit the five-month deadline at least. Armsmaster, how's Dragon getting along?"

"More and more capable by the day," he replied. "She should be ready in time."

"Good. Tell her I said hi."

* * *

The meeting broke up shortly after that; as Armsmaster exchanged a few words with Eidolon and Alexandria, Contessa approached me. We hadn't spoken much since the bank job, and I had assumed that she was still a little peeved at the way I had dictated terms to her.

"Thank you," she told me firmly.

"We're not out of the woods," I reminded her. "Long way to go yet."

She nodded. "Of course. But your information, the powers Scion is most likely to use, so many other things. We didn't know this, couldn't plan for them. Now, we can."

I grinned. "And here I thought you just showed up for the free cookies."

Surprising me, she wrapped her arms around me, hugged me tightly. I returned the hug, held her close.

As she stepped through the Door a few moments later, she turned to look back at me. "The cookies are nice, too." And then she was gone.

=/=

* * *

**Monday, April 25, 2011**

* * *

"Not my intention, I assure you," I told Director Piggot. "But you gotta admit, they make some good points."

She grimaced. "Much as I dislike sending a civilian into the line of fire, you have been vouched for by Armsmaster and Miss Militia. You're volunteering for this task, and you'll be expected to not put anyone else to undue risk. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "That's why I'm putting my hand up here; to reduce the risk to everyone."

"We'll need to fit you out with a basic costume," Miss Militia pointed out. "Better start thinking about what you want."

I nodded. "Yeah, got it. So what am I gonna be doing, sidekicking for one of you guys, or pretending to take care of some Wards?"

Aegis raised his hand slightly. "Kid Win speaks highly of you. I'll see if he and Browbeat want to tag along with you. Two Brutes and a Tinker, sounds like a good combo."

"Maybe Clockblocker as well," suggested Assault. "That way you've got a Striker as well. They're all pretty experienced."

"I'll definitely listen to whatever they've got to say," I agreed.

"Then it's settled," Armsmaster decided. "Mr Allen, have you settled on a cape name?"

I shrugged. "What's wrong with 'Security'?"

=/=

* * *

**Tuesday, April 26, 2011**

* * *

"Security, hah!" spat Trainwreck. "I'll 'Security' _you."_

He stepped forward, one big metallic fist coming up. I went low, kicking at his right knee. Mechanical or not, that was a point of failure.

But my combat mods were still adjusting to him; I guessed fleetingly that he didn't move quite like a normal person. I was that little bit off, and my kick only glanced off of his shin. It got his attention, though; I had hit hard enough to ding the exterior.

He was big, but he wasn't slow; his fist came down like a steam-hammer. "Whoa, crap!" I leaped and rolled out of the way, as the massive steel bludgeon shattered concrete.

"_Mike, are you all right?"_

"Yeah," I panted, regaining my feet. "This guy's fuckin' _huge."_

"_Wait for backup,"_ she insisted. _"One minute out."_

"Sorry, can't do," I told her. "This one's mine."

Moving more cautiously, I advanced on Trainwreck. He jittered in my vision, as my combat mods tried to work out what he would do next.

Next, apparently, was 'attack'. He came at me, building speed, swinging back his fist for a haymaker that would probably be able to take my head off.

He was stronger than me, by a good margin. But that didn't always carry the fight. I stood my ground, watching his movements, how he carried himself, where his centre of gravity was. Time seemed to slow down; his image extended toward me, metallic fist on a collision course with my head.

I didn't want that to happen; a split second before it was due to come about, I dropped, rolled forward. Swung my foot around in a smashing kick. For once, I let myself use my full strength; I hit the side of his ankle with everything I had. One foot tangled behind the other, and he smashed full-length on the ground.

I was up again, faster than he was. The jackhammer attachment lay nearby; I grabbed it, heaved, picked it up. Trainwreck climbed to his feet, turned, just as I swung it like a club. I wasn't aiming it at his head, which would have killed him, or his body, which was too sturdy for me to really damage. Instead, his left arm took the brunt of the blow. Metal shrieked and snapped; he swung at me with his right fist, but he was off-balance; the blow smashed into me, but with less force than he could have used. Even so, it drove the wind from me, knocked me sprawling.

"_Mike!"_

"I'm fine," I gasped. "Nothing's broken."

Left arm twitching, jerking, not responding to his commands, he stomped toward me. I rolled to my feet, faced him cautiously. That had felt like being hit by a truck. The attachment had taken a large part of the impact; it was in pieces. The bit, the hardened spike of metal that actually did the jackhammering, had rolled free. I grinned.

"You little bastard," he growled. "I'll -"

Grabbing up the jackhammer bit, I ducked around to his left side, and jammed the bit into his knee joint. Spinning around, I slammed the heel of my boot at the end of the exposed bit; with a metallic shriek, it penetrated deeply into the knee mechanism. Something jammed; Trainwreck froze, waving his one good arm for balance.

Then I grabbed his left arm, set myself, and yanked. Pulled off balance, he fell headlong for the second time in less than a minute. His one good arm and one good leg thrashed impotently as he tried to get up.

"You little fucker!" he bellowed. "I'm going to -"

I had noticed that we were fighting next to a set of roller-doors, but I hadn't paid much attention to the fact. This changed when something sliced through the thin metal, in three quick, efficient strokes. This, even without recognising the tip of the halberd, gave me my clue as to who it was.

The rectangular section of metal fell inward, and Armsmaster stepped through the gap. Throughout the warehouse, I could now hear PRT troopers coming in through the other entrances.

"You'll do nothing, Trainwreck," Armsmaster stated coldly, "except submit to arrest." He looked at me. "And what do you have to say for yourself?"

Inside my helmet, I grinned. I knew I'd get in trouble for saying it, but I said it anyway.

"What kept you?"

=/=

* * *

**Monday, April 25, 2011**

* * *

"Raise your arms, please."

I raised my arms.

The costumier ran his tape down each arm, then around my chest, and my abdomen. With each measurement, he mumbled figures to himself.

"I should have a bodysuit for your size," he admitted. "Did you want anything on it?"

"Just a shield shape, you know, to symbolise protection," I explained. "A kite shield, maybe in red."

He nodded. "I can do that. Did you want anything on it? Say, an S for Security?"

I shook my head, chuckling. "Nope. Me, with an 'S' on my chest. Not gonna happen."

"Suit yourself." He turned away, bustling toward where he kept the bodysuits. As he returned, he tilted his head. "What's that tune? I feel that I should know it."

"Oh, sorry," I told him. "I didn't even realise that I was humming. It's just something that gets stuck in my head sometimes."

"If you say so." He held up the bodysuit to me, and frowned critically. "Not a perfect fit, sir. I'll get a size larger."

I watched him go, and glanced at the calendar on the wall. Unconsciously, I started humming again.

_Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong …_

* * *

End of Chapter Forty-Three


	44. Chapter 44

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Four: Paying the Piper

* * *

**Late on Tuesday Evening, April 26, 2011**

* * *

_Gladys Knott looked up from the TV at the knock on the door. _**_I wasn't expecting anyone._**

"_Who is it?" she called, muting the TV and going to the door._

"_It's me," she heard. "Mike."_

_Undoing the locks, she opened the door; it was indeed Michael standing there. "Hello," she greeted him uncertainly. "Is something the matter? We didn't have a date that I forgot, did we?"_

_Smiling, he shook his head. "No. Just thought I'd drop by and tell you about some stuff before you heard about it elsewhere."_

"_Michael?" She eyed him suspiciously. "What _**_have_**_ you been doing?"_

"_Why does it have to be something that _**_I've_**_ done?" he asked defensively._

"_Well, is it?" she pressed._

_He sighed. "Well, yeah, okay, fine, it is. Can I come in?"_

"_Please." She watched him enter, then closed the door behind him. In the stronger light, she saw things that she had missed before. "What happened to your face, Michael? And why is there a bandage on your arm?"_

"_Yeah, that's kind of the thing I came to talk to you about," he confessed. "I kind of went out with the Wards today as part of an operation to clean up the gangs. The ABB and Merchants."_

_She stopped, staring at him. "And you got hurt? What happened to your beard, your eyebrows? Your arm?"_

"_I'm not really hurt badly," he assured her, before she could become too concerned. "Some first-degree burns, some scorched hair. I have some shallow cuts on my arm, but that's about it."_

"_Michael," she asked slowly, "what did you _**_do_**_ to get all that? Who did this to you?" She imagined that this must be what a cape wife felt like, her man coming home with bruises and cuts every night. Or worse, not coming home at all._

"_Actually, I pretty well got through the gang cleanup without much of a problem." He sat down gingerly on the couch, wincing slightly._

_She sat beside him, holding his hand in hers. "'Much' of a problem, Michael? There's something you're not telling me."_

_He shrugged. "Okay, yeah, I went into a warehouse and beat up some thugs, then took on their boss. It was something that needed doing. He was gonna dump some pretty nasty stuff in the city's water supply."_

"_You're being very vague, Michael," she warned him. "Who was their boss?"_

_He looked at her, as if assessing his chance of evading the question, then he sighed. "Trainwreck. Big guy, with mechanical arms and legs. A bit on the strong side."_

"_I've heard of him," Gladys told him coolly. She had done more than a little research on the PHO forums, after finding out just how closely Michael was working with the PRT. "And this is the man you took on. After beating up on his mooks."_

_He nodded. "The main thing was to keep out of the way of his fists. The guy hit like a steam train. So to speak."_

"_And you won?" Despite herself, despite the unhappiness she felt about him putting himself in harm's way, she felt a touch of surprise, of pride. Trainwreck, from what she had read of him, was no pushover._

"_Well, let's say he was on the ground when Armsmaster got there," he told her. "I let him close the deal."_

"_Which doesn't explain as to how you got the burns on your arm and face," she pointed out. "Nor the cuts which you say are under that bandage."_

_He sighed. "Well, this afternoon, I was called to see Director Piggot …"_

=/=/=

* * *

**Earlier**

* * *

Emily Piggot didn't glance up from her paperwork as I entered her office. "Sit."

I sat.

She made a distracted sound, turned to her computer, clicked on something, and compared it with the sheet of paper. "Hm."

I didn't try to get her attention; no doubt this was a subtle power play, indicating that I was certainly not the most important thing on her mind. Even if I had been, which I doubted. So I sat, and watched her, and felt myself relax, the initial apprehension gradually bleeding away.

I was more aware of my body's internal workings now, or at least it felt that way. Between them, Amy and Riley had given me a certain amount of biofeedback capability, probably to better allow me to control my combat mods,so that I didn't accidentally take someone's head off if I was startled. I imagined that I could control my heart rate, speed it up and slow it down as necessary. Not that I was going to _try_ it, but I thought that maybe I could. If I had to.

Perhaps this was the source of my increasing bursts of recklessness; had I subconsciously decided that I needed to be more proactive, and so my body had prepared itself to react in that way? If my brain and body were working more in conjunction, I would definitely have to learn how to control my reactions, before I got into too many dangerous situations. That way lay the Eidolon problem.

_Dangerous situations. Hah._

I tried to hide a grin at that, and obviously failed. Without seeming to look my way, Piggot asked dryly, "Is there something funny that you'd like to share with me, Mr Allen?"

I cleared my throat. "Just a thought that occurred to me, Director," I replied. "Nothing relevant to the current situation."

"The current situation, yes." She did look up at me, then, and folded her hands across the papers on her desk. "What _do_ you have to say for yourself regarding today's action?"

_Oh, yeah. This is not gonna be fun._ I damped down a fear reaction, and looked her in the eye. "I did what I believed to be correct at the time. I'm not going to pretend that my judgement was entirely _sound_ at that moment – I was somewhat excited, and running on adrenaline – but I still believe that going in when I did was better than waiting for backup."

She frowned. I reminded myself that I was older than her, and that she was pulling a classic intimidation play on me. It didn't really help; she had been a career soldier, and then the PRT Director for one of the roughest cape cities in the United States for more than a decade. She had far more experience in staring down subordinates than I had in dealing with superiors.

"I will admit," she noted almost reluctantly, "that you did instruct the Wards with you to stay outside. On the one hand, you were without their backup when you might have needed it the most; on the other hand, they were out of harm's way."

"I wasn't going to risk them," I assured her. "They were my responsibility. With them in the building, I would have had to worry about them as well as myself."

"And so you took on forty armed men, as well as a dangerous parahuman, single-handedly," she pointed out. "It could so easily have gone the other way."

"But it didn't," I countered. I considered telling her about Contessa's true capabilities, but decided that she had enough on her plate, right at that moment. "I didn't know _what_ they were doing in there, but I didn't want them to finish whatever it was. So I went in there to do my best to stop them."

She pursed her lips in a sour expression. "So you did not know what they were doing, but you went in anyway. They could have been assembling a bomb, for all you knew."

"Weaver had eyes on them. She would have told me if that was happening."

"Ah, yes, Weaver," observed Piggot. "I have read her report regarding your actions within the warehouse. Her claim is that she informed you about the hole they were making in the floor _before_ you went in, that this may have influenced your decision."

I restrained my impulse to blink in surprise. _Taylor's lying to try to keep me out of trouble. Oh god, if I say the wrong thing here, I land her in the shit._

"She _may_ have," I allowed. "I can't really remember. I was kind of excited at the time."

"So you've already told me," she noted. "Do you recall her telling you about the hole at all?"

"Oh, yeah," I confirmed. "That was when I _really_ knew it was a good idea to get in there and mess them around a bit."

"But you don't recall whether this happened before or after you entered the warehouse?" she pressed. "My understanding is that you've had Panacea improve your long-term memory retrieval capability."

_Whoops._ "Well, I definitely remember it happening," I pointed out. "Does it really matter whether it was before or after I went in?"

She nodded. "It's a matter of intent," she informed me. "It was a good thing that you did go in there, as far as we can tell. Left to their own devices, Trainwreck's forces would have set up ambush positions."

"Which Weaver would have pinpointed for us."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you arguing _against _yourself now?"

I grinned wryly. "We both know it's true."

A nod. "Definitely. In fact, given a little time, Weaver could have cleared out the warehouse without a single man needing to step inside. However."

My expression was one of polite attentiveness. "However … ?"

Piggot sighed. "But all indications were that he was going to dump the entire stockpile of drugs into the water supply. And there were some Tinker concoctions among them. The interactions between them may have been ... problematic."

"What, like a zombie plague?" I asked flippantly.

She scowled. "Don't be ridiculous."

"In any case, me going in was a good thing, right?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. "But as I said, it comes down to intent. If you knew about the hole beforehand, then you were acting to prevent a problematic scenario. If you didn't, then you were contravening orders."

"Which would have been unfortunate for me, had I been a member of the Protectorate," I noted. "I'm guessing disciplinary action, for sure."

"In such a case, disciplinary action would have definitely resulted," she agreed. "So which was it?"

"Fortunately, I'm just a contractor," I pointed out, deliberately not responding to the question. "So the most you can to do to me is terminate my contract."

She eyed me balefully. "Don't make me ask a second time, Mr Allen," she stated flatly.

"Oh, she definitely told me _before_ I got inside," I assured her. "But I'm thinking that I should be putting in my notice, given that the gang war's pretty well done with anyway. So yeah, this is me quitting as a contractor."

Her expression sharpened to suspicion. "This is somewhat convenient. I'm getting the impression that you are doing this, just so that we _don't_ press on the aspect of exactly when Weaver warned you."

"Or maybe I just don't need the hassle," I replied. "So anyway, I'm thinking that I'll keep my new career on the down-low for the moment. Of course, I'll be sticking to my _real_ day job."

She blinked. "Security guard?"

I shook my head. "Saving the world."

She gave me a level stare. "You have an aggravating habit of playing that card to get exactly what you want, Mr Allen."

"Yeah, well," I replied flatly. "Just remember where that's going. I kind of think I've earned it."

She tilted her head slightly; not quite a nod, but not quite a negation either. "Perhaps, Mr Allen. But I've made a career of not letting capes push me around. So don't try it."

"Last thing on my mind," I assured her. "But I gotta ask. Do I still got prison visiting privileges?"

Her lips compressed. "I have been told, in the strongest of terms, that your visits to Riley are doing her a significant amount of good. I will be allowing them to continue."

"Thanks. But it wasn't only Riley I was thinking of."

Her head came up. "Who else?"

I told her. Her eyebrows rose considerably. "Is this wise?"

I shrugged. "Well, _someone's_ got to do something."

* * *

"**_Visitor!"_**

_Lung looked up as the airlock door opened, and the fat man stepped through. No guards came with him; he advanced to the perspex and leaned against it._

"_What do you want?" Lung's voice was hard._

"_Here to see if you've made a decision," the man calling himself Security responded. "Yes or no? Because the clock just restarted, and the deadline's a lot closer than before. So you're going to have to make a choice. Now."_

_Lung sneered. "Come back and ask me tomorrow, and I might tell you then."_

_The fat man put his head to one side. "You know, I don't believe that I will." He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. Immediately, the barrier between them parted. Allen walked through, whereupon it closed once more._

_Lung stared. "What is this? Do you think that venturing into the lion's den will impress me with your bravery?"_

"_Nope." The fat man shook his head. "I'm here to beat sense into you."_

_This was ludicrous, unbelievable. Lung began to chuckle, then laugh. His rich mirth filled the cell as he doubled over with hilarity. The man's temerity was astonishing. A mouse may well threaten to devour a cat!_

_And then something exploded on the side of his head; he found himself lying on the floor, a ringing in his ears. He shook his head, staring at the fat man, who had moved a step closer. The blow had taken him by surprise, but still, he should not have gone down so easily._

"_What is this?" he demanded. "That was a cowardly attack."_

"_That was just to get your attention." Allen eyed him dismissively. "Unless you're chicken."_

_Anger began to rise within him. "You have made a mistake. I can tear you limb from limb before the soldiers out there can get in here."_

_Allen extended a hand, made a come-on gesture with it. "Don't see you doing it, dragon-boy."_

_Something was definitely amiss here. Lung wasn't fearful, but nor was he stupid. "If I attack you, they will foam me."_

_The fat man rolled his eyes. "Excuses, excuses." He raised his voice. "Guys. Let him try it."_

_There was a long pause, then the speaker crackled to life. _**_"Let him try it, roger."_**

_He turned back to Lung and spread his hands. "No more excuses. Your move."_

_Lung had had enough. Gathering his anger, he came up off the floor in a lunging rush, seeking to lay hands on the fat man, to break his bones before the inevitable foam covered them both. His target was big, slow, heavy. Easy pickings._

_As he rammed face-first into the wall, Lung wasn't quite sure what had gone wrong. He had gotten within arms' reach of the fat man, and then his target hadn't been there any more. A grip of steel had overtaken him, and he had found himself heading for the wall. Slowly, feigning weakness, he climbed to his feet once more, anger growing ever stronger. Heat began to well off of his skin, making the air around him waver. He knew from this that Allen was serious; normally by now, temperature sensors in the cell would have had him coated in foam or inhaling argon._

"_When you're ready?" Allen's voice was taunting, mocking._

_More circumspect this time, Lung approached him, looking for weaknesses. What he saw caused him to revise his opinion of the man, dramatically. Allen didn't look fat and slow any more. He looked big and dangerous. His posture, his balance, what he had just done; it all screamed 'training'._

_But still, he was just a human. And Lung could deal with a human. All he had to do was -_

_Before Lung could complete the thought, Allen stepped forward. Moving faster than a man of his bulk should be able to move, he slammed his shin into Lung's ribs. Several of them broke; the smashing power of the strike sent Lung staggering sideways, but he stayed up. He clamped his arm over that side, as he felt the ribs beginning to mend._

"_You," he snarled, as flames flickered from his mouth. "How are you doing this?"_

_Allen rolled his eyes. "Are you going to talk, or to fight? _**_Sheesh_**_."_

_In he came again, driving blow after blow at Lung's face and torso. It was like being pummelled by a pile-driver, one that could choose its targets intelligently. Lung tried to defend, but the punches and kicks slipped through anyway. He tried to retaliate; as he opened his defence, a smashing blow broke his jaw. Consciousness slipped away._

* * *

_Lung came to, lying flat on his back. His ribs were almost healed, although his jaw hadn't knitted properly yet. Allen leaned against the wall, watching him._

"_Wow, talk about a glass jaw," his tormentor jibed. "One hit, and you just folded like a cheap dishrag. That's a YouTube moment if I ever saw one."_

_Lung was on his feet in an instant. "You are not the fat man!" he bellowed. "Who are you?"_

_Allen grinned. "Let's just say … I had some work done. Call me … Security, two point oh."_

_The careless tone was the same. The attitude was the same. More importantly, the look in the eyes was the same._

_Well, not _**_exactly_**_ the same. Previously, the fat man had been urging an alliance, that Lung agree to join forces. Now? He sought battle. He _**_wanted_**_ to fight Lung. Hand to hand, one on one._

"_Why are you doing this?"_

"_I _**_told_**_ you," Allen reiterated. "You were just gonna keep waffling, so I needed to get your attention. It's that or -"_

_Lung didn't wait for him to finish his explanation; he attacked, while his enemy was distracted. The anger he had regained bulked him out, increased his strength and durability. He would overbear his opponent -_

_A smashing blow to the groin doubled him over, trying not to retch in pain. He had been kicked in the testicles many times before; that was no real problem. The problem came in the fact that he had never been kicked so _**_hard_**_ before. Straightening up despite the near-crippling pain, he managed not to stagger._

_More anger flooded into his system, and he bulked out even faster, his healing power soothing the bruised and battered flesh. Flames began to flicker over his skin, while metal scales poked up through his epidermis. Vaguely, he heard the soldier calling over the speaker._

"**_Sir, pull back! We have to -"_**

"_No!" Allen shouted. "I've got this!"_

_Moving in, he unloaded his piledriver blows on Lung once more; each one arrived with crushing force, driving Lung back on to his heels. With a hissing roar, Lung flexed his fingers, steel talons sliding into place. He swung at Allen -_

_Hands gripped his arm, swung him, and he felt the agonising _**_pop_**_ of his shoulder dislocating, even as he slammed face-first into the wall. Again. It didn't matter; pain fed his anger now, and anger fed his growth. Soon, he would be beyond the ability of the man called Security to hurt, and -_

_An arm locked around his throat from behind. It clamped tight, ignoring the flames on his skin, crushing the metal scales protecting his throat. He felt his airway close off._

_Frantically, he clawed at the arm, shredding the cloth, drawing red lines on the skin, but penetrating no further. It was like an iron bar across his neck, strangling him, taking away his air. Defeating him, yet again. But still, he was Lung, and so he fought, and struggled, until the blackness welled up, and he fell yet again._

* * *

_Lung's eyes opened; Allen squatted patiently nearby. He seemed to be examining the arm that Lung had tried to shred, but when Lung went to move, he turned to look._

"_So, you ready to make a decision yet?" he asked._

_There was no taunting this time. Just a simple question. And the implicit promise that Allen could, and would, continue the humiliating beating, if Lung kept wasting his time._

_Lung didn't get up immediately; he studied Allen. "You have defeated me so readily, and you still want me to fight on your side?"_

_Allen shrugged. "I have an upper limit. You don't. Besides, I'll have another job. Big picture and all."_

"_But you will not be sitting back where it is safe." It wasn't a question._

_Allen straightened his legs and stood. "Kenta." Lung blinked at the direct use of his name, but Allen was still talking. "In the war that is coming, there will be no place that is 'safe'. There will only be varying levels of danger. But yes, I will be out there, doing my bit. Whatever that bit turns out to be."_

_He extended his hand. Warily, Lung took it; with surprising ease, the man called Security heaved him to his feet. Faded blue eyes met intense brown. "So. What's your choice?"_

_Lung raised his chin. "I fight."_

_Allen nodded. "Good. Welcome aboard."_

* * *

Emily Piggot eyed me with disfavour as I exited the cell, looking somewhat more scorched than when I'd gone in. "That was illegal on so many levels. I don't even know why I let you go in there."

"Because if I hadn't," I pointed out, "he'd still be fart-arsing around, not saying yes, not saying no. I forced the issue. Now he's agreed to step up, we can focus on working out strategies that involve him."

"He's _dangerous,"_ she insisted. "You humiliated him. He's proud. He won't forget that."

"He's also agreed to fight Zion," I reminded her. "Yes, he's proud. He won't back down from something like that. Especially if you make it clear that he's not just disposable cannon-fodder."

She grimaced. "I'm used to putting them away, not letting them out again."

"Couple months time, there'll be more than just him to keep an eye on," I noted. "We've got to build an army, we've got to build it fast, and we've got to build it right."

"With the knowledge that the whole thing's just a distraction and a smokescreen."

"Doesn't make it any less imperative," I reminded her. "We've each got a part to play."

She eyed me closely. "So what's _your_ part, Mr Allen?"

I gazed back at her. "I wish I knew, Director. I wish I knew."

=/=/=

* * *

**Gladys, Later**

* * *

"_Michael, you went into his _**_cell_**_?" Gladys heard her voice rise, and made herself take a deep breath. "That was terribly foolhardy. You could have gotten badly hurt."_

"_I could've, yes, but I didn't," he reminded her. "These combat mods that Riley gave me are amazing. Lung's nasty, but if you hit him hard enough, and keep him off balance, it's possible to keep ahead of him. And now he's agreed to cooperate and fight on our side."_

"_And at the same time, he cut your arm and gave you burns," she pointed out. "That can be dangerous in itself. You need to make sure those don't get infected."_

_He chuckled; she shot him a suspicious glance. "What?"_

_His expression was amused. "I, uh … you're not the first person to tell me that."_

_She eyed him askance. "So who _**_else_**_ tried to knock common sense into you?"_

_He grinned. "Well, as it happens … "_

=/=/=

* * *

**Earlier**

* * *

When I got to Riley's cell, Theo was already there. This made a certain amount of sense; he lived on base, and he would already have gotten back and been debriefed. He had hit it off fairly well with Riley when I had introduced them, and so I was glad to see that he was visiting her. I was even more glad to see that he was being _allowed_ to visit her.

As the perspex pulled aside, I heard his voice. " - so he turns around and says, "So, what kept you?"

Riley, holding her sides, looked about ready to fall off her chair from laughter. "He_ didn't!"_

Theo nodded earnestly. "He did." Turning, he saw me entering the cell. "Oh, hi, Mike. Tell her, that's what you said, right?"

"To Armsmaster?" I nodded. "Yeah, that's what I said. Got in a bit of trouble for it, though."

Riley, still giggling, got up and hugged me; I returned it. "I'm glad to see you're all right, Mike."

"Yeah, Armsmaster and Director Piggot weren't overly pleased, but they had to agree, the job got done." I saw Theo staring. "What?"

"What happened to _you?"_ asked the teenage boy. "You look like you've been in a fight. _Another_ fight."

Riley pulled free and looked at me. "Shit, he's right. What _happened_ to you? You've lost some of your beard, and your eyebrows are singed, your _clothes_ look a bit burned, and your arm's all scraped up."

I shrugged. "Had a word with Lung."

"A _word?" _Riley was palpating my arm, observing the red cuts closely. "You've got burns here, as well as cuts down to the subdermal armour. This needs to be treated, in case it gets infected. What were you _thinking?"_

"I was thinking that we needed him on side, and he was just buggerising around, so I went into his cell and I called him on it. We went a few rounds, and after he came to, he agreed to pull his head out of his arse and actually step up." I shrugged. "It needed to be done, so I did it."

"See a doctor," Riley ordered me. "As soon as you leave here. Go to the sickbay and get them to check you over." She glared at me. "Yes, my modifications have made you stronger and tougher. But you're not Alexandria, and you're not impervious. You need to take _care_ of yourself, Mike. _Seriously._ Christ, why do I even have to _tell_ you this? Just because I raised your pain tolerance doesn't mean that you can ignore shit like that."

I nodded contritely. "Okay, yeah, got it. Still human. Sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Mike." She was still angry. "What's this on your chest? Open your shirt."

Reluctantly, I unbuttoned my shirt, and she was immediately on to the spot of torn skin in the centre of my chest. "I _thought_ so. What happened here?"

I grimaced. "I, uh, bullet?"

She rolled her eyes. "And from the feel of it, that might just have cracked your sternum. Any pain when you inhale?"

I shook my head. "None. Not even after Trainwreck hit me, which is that bruise."

Theo whistled. 'That bruise' took up a good part of my left side. "How are you still walking?"

I shrugged. "Miracle of modern medicine?"

Reaching up, Riley took hold of my left earlobe, digging her nails in.

"Ow! Hey!" I tried to pull away, then desisted; it hurt a lot more than the cuts on my arm.

Pulling my head down to her level, she put her mouth next to my ear. "I'm going to say this just once, Mike." Her voice was steady and controlled. "As your attending physician, which _you_ chose me to be. Are you listening?"

"Ow. Ow. Yes, I'm listening."

She pinched harder. _"Take better care of yourself." _Letting my ear go, she put her arms around my neck. "Ever since I've been here, you've been my best friend, even when I didn't know I needed a friend. You've never turned your back on me, never looked down on me, and apologised when you did the wrong thing." Tears were filling her eyes, and she briefly let go to angrily wipe them away. "I – I _care_ for you. I _don't_ want to lose you. So for _fuck's _sake, get yourself seen to. _Please."_

I put my arms around her, holding her close. "I will. I promise. Now can I do my shirt up?"

Pulling free, she grinned, even though there were still tears on her cheeks. "Yeah. I don't need to look at that any more."

"Good," I told her as I re-buttoned my shirt. "You realise, I'm gonna cop a hiding about this from at least two other people, maybe three or four. I'm not looking forward to that."

"Really?" she asked, tilting her head to one side. "Who?"

"Weaver, right?" asked Theo.

"She's one," I confirmed. "Also, Panacea. Weaver's dad will probably get in on the act. And yeah, there's someone I've been seeing. She's gonna go thermonuclear on me. She hates it when I get hurt, doing stupid stuff."

"Good," Riley informed me, with no discernible sympathy. "If that's what it takes to get some sense into your head, then I wish her the best of luck."

I grimaced, though I felt somewhat amused. "You two would probably get along really well."

"I want to meet her sometime," Riley declared. "She sounds nice."

"I might try to arrange it," I mused. "She knows about the heart attack, and how you saved me."

Riley nodded. "I'd like that. It's nice having friends who are just friends."

"And talking about," Theo put in, "how about we break open a board game and kick some ass."

"I'll kick _your_ ass," Riley threatened, grinning again.

He grinned back. "Bring it."

As they continued to bicker good-naturedly, I leaned back on my seat and hid a grin of my own. Riley might think I was doing this all for her, but she would be wrong. I was also doing it for me.

It was nice to see my changes doing some good.

=/=/=

* * *

**Gladys, Later**

* * *

"_Wait, Riley wants to _**_meet_**_ me?" Gladys was more than a little concerned. "Didn't you tell me that she used to be … " She trailed off, not wanting to say the actual name._

_Michael nodded. "Yes. _**_Used_**_ to be. Past tense. Not any more. Because she _**_used to be_**_ under the direct influence of a psychopath called Jack Slash, who was _**_extremely_**_ good at manipulating people. However, this is no longer the case. She has no father figure in her life, so I'm kind of standing in, I guess."_

"_But why does she want to meet _**_me_**_?" Gladys felt apprehensive. She knew that Michael had assured her that Riley – previously Bonesaw – was reformed now, had participated in two separate life-saving surgeries on his behalf. But she also knew what she had seen on TV regarding the Slaughterhouse Nine, and the horrific exploits of the girl called Bonesaw over the previous six years. _**_What if she's fixated on him, and sees me as a rival for his attention?_**

"_Because I'm trying to re-socialise her," he explained. "I'm introducing people to her who can spend time with her and basically let her be normal. We play board games. She's responding really well, so far."_

"_I see," she ventured. "So how did my name come up, anyway?"_

"_Oh , I didn't tell her your _**_name_**_," he assured her. "Just that you were one of the other four people who were likely to tear strips off of me for doing what I did. The others being Taylor, Amy, and Danny. I told her you were likely to go thermonuclear."_

"_And what did she say?"_

_He chuckled. "She said 'good'. Said that if that's what it took to knock some sense into my head, then she wished you the best of luck."_

_Gladys blinked. "Oh. Well … I'll think about it. As you might understand, I don't often get invitations to visit ex-supervillains in prison every day."_

"_Let me know if you decide to say yes," he requested. "It might take a little while to clear through the Director. But I'm sure if I make a strong enough case, she'll okay it."_

"_I'll let you know. It's a lot to think over."_

_He grinned suddenly, making him look ten years younger. "Take your time. She's not going anywhere."_

"_Well, I'm just glad that you're all right," she told him. "When I think of what _**_could_**_ have happened to you … "_

_He leaned across and kissed her gently. She returned the kiss, her lips lingering on his. They held each other for a moment._

"_I wish I could invite you to stay," she murmured. "But I can't. Early start tomorrow."_

"_Me too," he agreed. "On all counts. Sucks being responsible." Standing, he offered his hand to her; smiling, she accepted the help getting to her feet, although she did not need it._

"_Good night, Michael." Her voice was soft as she embraced him. His arms went around her as well, holding her so close that she fancied that she could feel both heartbeats, as he had described them to her. _**_If he asks to stay, I will not say no, early start or no early start._**_ But he did not._

_One more kiss, and then he separated from her, opened the door. One last glance back, and then he was gone, the door closing gently behind him. Mechanically, she locked it – in Brockton Bay, it paid to be careful – then pulled back the curtain from the window beside, looking out. She saw the internal light come on as he climbed into the pickup, then go out as he closed the door. Faintly heard the engine start, saw the lights come on. The vehicle moved off; she watched until it was out of sight._

_Sitting back down on the sofa, she unmuted the TV and tried to watch, but found that her thoughts would not let her follow even the most banal of plots. So she switched it off, and sat for a while in silence, trying to marshal the thoughts swirling in her head._

_Eventually, she gave it up and went to bed._

=/=/=

* * *

**Wednesday Morning, April 27, 2011**

* * *

I pulled to a halt outside the Hebert house, set the park brake and killed the engine. _Time to face the music once more._ I didn't know where Dragon had gotten the information from, but she'd had a few choice words to say to me the previous night before we got into the game with Sveta. Which, I'd had to admit, had been a lot of fun, and had gone on longer than intended.

I sighed as I got out of the pickup. _Downside of having friends. They'll get up you for doing stupid stuff. Oh well._

By habit, I locked the door, but as bugs were already starting to swarm – unobtrusively, but I was watching for the signs – I doubted very much that anyone was going to break into it in a hurry.

Not very much to my surprise, the front door opened as I strolled up the path; Amy stood there, looking slightly puzzled.

"Mr Allen – I mean, Mike?" she asked. "What's up? Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing that I know of," I assured her. "I just wanted to swing by, see how you guys were going. Maybe give you and Taylor a lift to school."

Her eyes brightened. "That would be great, sure," she agreed. "Come on in."

I mounted the stairs and stepped in through the front doors; Amy headed back to the living room. "Dad!" she called. A moment later, she realised her mistake, and turned bright pink. "I mean -"

"I know what you mean," Danny told her as he leaned through the door from the kitchen; the smile and pleased tone let us both know how he felt about the slip. "Oh, hi, Mike. What's up, Amy?"

"Oh, uh, Mike's offered to give me and Taylor a lift to school," she stammered, still pink with embarrassment.

He didn't hesitate. "Sure, sounds okay to me. What's the occasion, Mike?"

"Just wanted to drop by, touch base, see if there's anything the girls wanted to yell at me about," I replied cheerfully. "I'm guessing they've filled you in on what went down yesterday."

A nod. "They have indeed." He eyed me perceptively. "And I presume you've already been reamed over it?"

"In triplicate," I agreed. "Armsmaster had his go. Director Piggot had her go. Riley tore me a new one as well. The sickbay attendant waxed sarcastic about superheroes who never learned how to duck. Even Gladys had a few unkind words to say about my common sense, or lack thereof. So I figured I'd come over so you could get it out of your systems in one easy burst."

He chuckled. "Well, I doubt I could think of anything to say that they haven't already, so I'll just say it here and now; you're lucky it turned out okay."

"You're not wrong." I turned to Amy. "I can see you're dying to check me over, so go right ahead." Pushing up the sleeve over my uninjured arm, I held the forearm out to her.

She clasped it immediately, then glared at me. "Seriously, Mike? If you didn't have that armour, you would be badly injured, maybe dying. No bones broken, but there's a hairline fracture or two that could do with my attention."

"Thanks, I -" I began.

"But that's not everything," she murmured. "Cuts and burns. Where did you get those cuts and burns from?"

I hesitated, then explained my visit to Lung, glossing over details as much as I dared. It wasn't enough; her glare redoubled.

"You're an idiot," she declared. "If you'd miscalculated, he might have been too strong for you to choke down. The burns are healing well, as are the cuts, but those could both have been very much worse."

I noticed that she was no longer pink, no longer embarrassed. Her intensity drowned all that out.

"Well, thankfully, I won't be required for an encore," I assured her. "He agreed to work with the PRT in … an upcoming case." Hastily, at the last moment, I changed the last words of my statement.

The sound of the shower upstairs, of which I had been subliminally aware but not paid any attention to, shut off. A moment later, Taylor's voice drifted down the stairs. "Hi, Mike!"

"Hi, Taylor," I called back, then heard a door close; her bedroom door, no doubt.

"Still a stupid thing to do," Amy informed me flatly. Danny came up to her and gave her a hug, which she returned.

"You tell him, Amy." His voice was amused. "I've got to get to work, but yeah, I've got no problem with Mike giving you both a lift."

"Okay," she agreed readily. "We'll see you this afternoon." She paused. "I think Taylor's rostered on this afternoon, so we might be in a little later than normal."

"Whatever you've got to do," Danny replied agreeably. "I know that you two watch each others' backs, but you take care anyway, okay?"

"Well, crime's taken a downswing since the ABB and the Merchants were hammered so badly," I offered. "The Empire's been keeping its head down too. So, not too much happening right this second."

"But they've got to keep on top of it," Danny agreed. He let go of Amy and shook my hand. "Good to see you, Mike. Don't go doing anything _more_ reckless than normal, okay?"

"God, don't encourage him," muttered Amy, rolling her eyes. Danny and I both grinned at her; he ruffled her hair affectionately.

"I'll see you later then. Take care."

Just as he was turning away, Taylor came clomping down the stairs, dressed and ready for school. "Hey, Mike. Just heading out, Dad?"

"That's right, kiddo," he agreed, giving her a quick hug as well. "Amy says you're likely to be in later than normal?"

"Yeah, roster," she noted. "Training, patrolling, stuff like that. The superhero life, am I right?"

"Which I have no doubt but that you're kicking ass," he told her solemnly. His eyes cut from her to Amy and back again. "I'm very proud of you. Both of you." He inclined his head to me. "See you later, Mike."

"Later, Danny." I watched him sling his jacket over his shoulder on the way out through the kitchen to the back door. It opened and closed; moments later, the car started, and he crunched his way down the driveway to the road.

Then Taylor turned to me, and her expression hardened. "If you weren't such a good friend, I wouldn't be nearly as pissed at you as I am right now," she stated flatly.

I tried to figure that out, then gave up. "Look," I told her, "I'm sorry that I did stupid things and nearly got hurt -"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't _care_ about that. You're tough, you can take care of yourself. You've been doing _that_ since I met you. What I care about is the fact that you weren't taking me seriously."

I blinked. "I _do_ take you seriously."

"Really?" she asked, her voice rising. Amy stepped up alongside her, took her hand, squeezed. Taylor glanced sideways at her; some unvoiced communication passed between them, and she moderated her tone. "Really. What am I supposed to think when I give you my _considered opinion_ on what's happening in that warehouse, that you should hold off until backup gets there. So what do you do? You _ignore_ me and go in anyway. And then you fight all those mooks, and you get to Trainwreck. I tell you that you should wait for backup – _again_ – and you ignore me _again_, just so you can go all testosterone on Trainwreck's metallic ass. I mean, seriously, were you trying to prove a point? Because there's not much point in me being command, comms and coordination when you won't listen to what I'm _telling_ you!"

I blinked. "Shit. You're right."

Taylor had drawn another breath, ready to hammer me again, but then she paused. "I mean … what?"

"You're right," I stated. "I did screw up. You were the person in the know, you had eyes on, you even told me that backup was on the way. I was riding the adrenaline high, my judgement was all screwed up, but I should have listened to you anyway. I really should have. I'm sorry."

Taylor's jaw had dropped slightly by the time I finished talking. She stared at me. "Wait … you're _apologising?"_

I nodded. "Yes. I did the wrong thing, and I've been thoroughly apprised of this by basically everyone I've spoken to since yesterday afternoon. I had no idea that I'd be hurting your feelings by going ahead like I did, and I _should _have known." Reaching out, I took her hand in mine, and one of Amy's in the other. "I sincerely apologise for my screw-up, for hurting your feelings, and I won't do it again. Okay?"

"Wow," murmured Amy. "He's serious."

"Damn it," muttered Taylor. "You make it hard to stay mad at you."

"I'm sorry," I replied with a grin. "I'm supposed to _want _you to be mad at me? That sounds hazardous to life and limb."

Taylor shook her head, then she pulled her hand free of Amy's grip and mine, and hugged me. "Just when I think you're just another typical guy, you go and do something like apologise for a mistake."

I hugged her back. "Trust me, kid. Older you get, the more you become vividly aware of your own mistakes."

"And what about _my_ apology?" asked Amy, eyebrows raised.

I grinned at her past Taylor's head. "I was just getting to that. Yes, I'm an idiot. I'll do my best not to do that again without a really good reason."

"I suppose that's the best I can get under the circumstances," she replied, but she looked pleased all the same.

Taylor let me go, and I faced Amy. "Trust me, I am absolutely and thoroughly grateful to you for everything you've done. I would never treat you like a kid or a disposable resource. If I ever start treating you with anything less than total respect, call me on it and I'll do my best to change my ways. Okay?"

Taylor stepped aside so that Amy could hug me; there was that nonverbal communication again. "Thanks," she told me, her voice muffled against my chest. "Thanks for that. Thanks for everything."

"Hey, it's okay," I told her. "Now, I believe you two were just having breakfast? Because I don't want to keep you away from it."

We all went through into the kitchen, and I sat while they had their bacon and eggs. I was offered some, and did not object; bacon, after all, is its own reward. Now that I had been chastised and forgiven, they filled me in on what else had gone down the previous day, and I gave them a blow-by-blow account of the fight with Lung.

* * *

Being the shorter of the two, Amy sat in the middle of the bench seat as I drove them both to school.

"You're still an idiot," she told me firmly, "but that fight sounded awesome."

"It was, kinda," I admitted. "Being able to cut loose, to see what I could really do, was cool. But I'm learning to keep a closer eye on my reactions, and adjust them to suit the situation. It's just a matter of getting used to it, I guess."

She nodded. "You don't have powers in the same way that the rest of us do – you don't even have an active corona pollentia – but you're still a lot more capable than the average person, and you need to make sure you don't let that get out of control. As strong and tough as you are now, with the combat mods that Riley put into you, you could easily hurt someone by accident. Or even yourself."

"Yeah," I agreed. "If it ever does start to slip out of my control, I would be hugely grateful if you'd look at it for me."

"Well, sure," she told me at once. "Just to see what needs doing." She smiled up at me. "I've been talking with Mrs Yamada about what you asked me to do, and she's really helping me see it in the proper perspective. I'm still not _totally_ comfortable with working with brains, but you know, there's good ways to do it, and bad ways to do it, and I'm starting to see the difference."

"Excellent," I replied. "That's really good to hear. Still running with Taylor, or have you given that away?"

"She's still running," Taylor assured me. "We're improving her wind and her pace. She still cheats by making the bacteria in her throat produce more oxygen, but what are you gonna do?" Her voice sounded affectionate.

"Well, hey, being able to run away is a perfectly viable survival skill," I pointed out. "I've been known to use it once or twice, as you well know."

"Oh god," Taylor recalled. "The time we went against Lung."

"Has she told you about that one?" I asked Amy. "Her first outing?"

Amy nodded. "Oh god, yes. It sounded like you were doing it by the skin of your teeth the whole way through. That was the night you met the Undersiders, right?"

"Yeah. That was interesting." Taylor glanced across at me. "You realise, that night hooked me on being a superhero. I could never give it up, not after that."

"I kinda know the feeling," I agreed. "After yesterday, I mean."

"Even though you were an idiot," Amy pointed out.

"And totally inconsiderate of my feelings," Taylor added.

I glanced at the girls; they were both grinning broadly. "And you're not gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope," agreed Taylor.

"Not until you actually start pretending to show some common sense," Amy pointed out.

"Bullies," I groaned in a put-upon voice. "Bullies, the both of you."

They both giggled.

* * *

I pulled up outside the gates of Arcadia, and put the pickup out of gear. "Here we go, and in plenty of time."

"Thanks, Mike," Taylor told me, opening the door and getting out; Amy echoed her a moment later, joining her on the sidewalk.

"Taylor, a word?" I requested, leaning across the seat.

Taylor looked back at me, nodded, then turned to Amy. "I'll catch up," she promised. Amy smiled and moved a few yards away, shouldering her pack.

"What's up?" asked Taylor, leaning back into the car.

"The Director told me how you said you told me about the hole before I went in," I explained to her. "I'm not altogether sure that she believed you."

"Oh," she replied, going a little pale.

I nodded. "'Oh' is correct. I appreciate the thought, but all it was ever really going to do was get you in trouble. I've got far and away enough goodwill saved up to get out of virtually any hassle." I gave her a serious look. "I don't need you pissing away your own reputation for honesty and reliability to help me out when I'm pretty good as is."

She looked down. "I just wanted to -"

Reaching up, I put my hand on her shoulder. "And I appreciate it, I really do. I know exactly why you did it, and I'm hugely flattered that you put your neck on the line for me. It shows what sort of person you really are, underneath." I grinned. "Just save it for someone who doesn't already have a guardian angel on speed dial, okay?"

Her expression was confused as she looked at me. "What, really?"

I chuckled. "Just about. Now, just so you know, I confirmed what you said, but I also resigned as a contractor so they didn't have a reason to push matters."

"Do you think they know?" She sounded worried.

"Emily Piggot is no fool," I assured her. "She's almost certainly sure of it. But because I made a point of denying it, and because I went to all that trouble to get you into the Wards, about the most that's going to happen is a quiet word in her office, along the lines of _don't do it again,_ and nothing said about it after that."

"But you've resigned as a contractor?"

I nodded. "No biggie. They can hire me on again at any time. It was always just a legal thing."

Slowly, she nodded. "Oh … okay." A smile. "Thanks."

"Thanks for sticking your neck out for me." I smiled. "Even if it wasn't actually _needed_, it's still nice to know that you've got my back."

"Always." She reached out with her fist; I bumped it with mine. "See you later, Mike."

"See you later, Taylor. Have a good one."

Her grin was carefree. "These days? Always."

She closed the door; I leaned across to wind the window up and press the lock down. As I did so, Taylor rejoined Amy; side by side, they headed on in through the school gates. Turning, they waved once. I waved back, and then they were gone. I sat up straight, adjusted my seatbelt, then considered where I was going to go next.

* * *

"_So what was that all about?"_

_Taylor didn't even consider not telling her. She and Amy had been a little reticent around one another to begin with, but it had not taken long for them to find common ground. Quite apart from the synergy of their respective powers – which was a strong bonding point as it was – they gravitated to one another through a shared loneliness. Amy helped Taylor with any parahuman based homework in World Affairs, having _**_been_**_ a parahuman herself for years. Taylor, in turn, tutored Amy in the use of computers. It was _**_nice_**_ to have a best friend again._

_She took a deep breath. "Mike knows I lied to keep him out of trouble."_

_Amy already knew about that, too, of course. "Oh, wow. So what's going to happen?"_

"_Hopefully, nothing. He backed me up. Says he talked to Director Piggot. She probably knows too, but she doesn't want to antagonise him."_

_Amy grinned. "More like, she doesn't want to antagonise _**_you_**_."_

"_Oh, come on," Taylor protested. "I'm not _**_that_**_ scary."_

"_Really?" teased Amy. "Clockblocker still runs and hides every time he sees one of your swarms."_

_Taylor was laughing now. "He does _**_not_**_!"_

"_Hi, Amy," someone greeted them as they entered the school proper. "And … Taylor, wasn't it?"_

_Amy smiled. "Hi, Chris," she greeted the boy. "How have you been?"_

"_Pretty good, pretty good," Chris replied. "And how have you been, ladies?"_

_Taylor's eyes narrowed slightly as she spotted the amused twinkle in Amy's eye. _**_There's something going on here, but I'm not sure what._**_ Chris didn't share it, so it wasn't something they were conspiring over. _**_I'm sure I'll find out eventually._**_ "I'm just fine, Chris," she responded. "Thanks for asking."_

_He _**_was_**_ a nice boy, and he seemed at least friendly toward her, which was a combination that she had found rarely enough in Winslow. Now, all she had to do was figure out if he was actually interested in her, and what to do about it if he was._

_Amy's eyes met hers as the three of them headed down the corridor, and Taylor knew that the biokinetic had more or less figured out what she was thinking. _**_Now, if only I could work out why Amy's so amused about the whole thing._**

* * *

I had the pickup back in gear, and I was heading toward the PRT building with the idea of dropping in to see Riley, or maybe Paige, when my phone rang. Pulling it out of my pocket, I pressed the button to answer, then hit speakerphone, dropping it on to the seat beside me. "Hello?"

"_Mr Allen. This is Director Piggot."_

I covered my surprise with false cheer. "Director. How may I help you, today?"

She sounded as though she was chewing nails. _"I have a request for you."_

"And what request is this?"

"_You may recall your work on getting the Undersiders to join the Wards."_

"I recall it, yes." That had taken quite a bit of effort. _Oh god, please don't tell me they've screwed up again._

"_Well, they have contacted my office and indicated that they are ready to come in and see about negotiating the terms of their recruitment."_

No _wonder_ Piggot sounded as though she wanted to punch something. Lisa had probably made the call, and she always had to push any buttons she found, just as hard as she could.

"Sounds good," I told her cautiously. "You get a bunch of villains off the street, and four more Wards under your watchful eye."

"_Yes,"_ she grated. _"But they've requested that _**_you_**_ be the one to accompany them into the building, and sit in on the negotiation. As a sign of good faith."_

"Me? Wow. Okay. Where do I meet them?" Even as I spoke the words, I couldn't help grinning. _Well played indeed, Lisa. There's no way they can disappear the Undersiders if I'm there._

"_I'm texting you the address,"_ she replied. _"Kindly do your best to keep them in check. My patience is not unlimited."_

"You got it," I assured her cheerfully.

This was going to be _interesting._

* * *

End of Chapter Forty-Four


	45. Chapter 45

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five: Undersiders!

* * *

I pulled over and stopped the vehicle. Grabbing the city directory from the dashboard, I figured out where I was, then where the address Emily had given me was. Then I spent the next few minutes working out how to get from point A (where I was) to point B (where the Undersiders were). Brockton Bay, I quickly decided, as befitted a city that was originally laid out in the heyday of colonial expansion, had streets that went _all_ over the place. A bowl of spaghetti hardly came into the picture.

Eventually, I had it sorted out, or so I figured. I didn't feel like pulling the old standby of going via Lord Street, which would basically double travel time, so I was going to have to go right up the middle. So to speak.

In the event, it was a little easier than I expected. Amy's brain mods had improved my long-term memory retrieval, and I guessed that had had a little bit of an effect on my short-term memory as well, because I was able to recognise the streets that I needed to take as I came up to them. I didn't _quite_ have an image of the map in my mind with a blinking dot showing where I was, but I wasn't getting lost, either. This was a good thing.

Still and all, I was a little dubious when I got to the destination, which appeared to be the parking lot of a closed-down Seven-Eleven. I pulled to a halt, stopped the engine and got out. Straggly grass had taken root between slabs of ill-fitting concrete, and one of the sliding glass doors in the darkened building had been broken.

Unfortunately, of Undersiders, there seemed to be a distinct lack.

* * *

From sheer habit after a long drive, I went to stretch, to pop my back into place again. It didn't happen; nor, as I noticed, were my joints sore. _Another thing to thank Riley for._ The lingering after-effects of my encounters with Trainwreck and Lung were still making themselves known, but that wasn't _her_ fault.

I strolled around the parking lot, looking up and down the street. "Well, _I'm_ here," I muttered, shading my eyes and staring across the road at a similarly abandoned service station. "Where the hell are _they?"_

The voice was hollow and echoing, and about ten feet behind me. "Right here."

I came around fast, my combat mods flaring, and then being suppressed again when I realised that it was indeed just the Undersiders. They stood there in a row, with three dogs alongside Bitch; dissipating clouds of blackness indicated how they'd sneaked up on me. I guessed, belatedly, that they'd actually been inside the derelict building until I turned my back.

"Christ," I snapped. "Don't _do_ that. I don't _need_ any more grey hairs."

Tattletale chuckled, Regent smirked, Bitch glowered and Grue's face was unreadable behind his skull-mask visor. I looked them over as my heart rate returned to something approaching normal. "So, you're ready to go in and talk to the Director about stuff, huh?"

Tattletale nodded. "That's the plan. You've smoothed it?"

"Basically," I agreed. "Not all of you are needed for what's going on, but you're all included in the deal. Because I'm not that much of a bastard."

She nodded, as if I'd said a great deal more. Which, I supposed, I had. "And you're willing to sit in on the meeting." It wasn't a question.

"Make sure she plays fair, yeah," I agreed.

Grue cleared his throat. "You can't tell us what we're needed for?"

"Not 'us'," Lisa informed him. "Just me. But he's going to push for the best deal for all of us." Which informed me of something else, just as she intended. _She hasn't told them about saving the world. Because they can't handle it, or because they don't need to know?_

_I have to trust that she knows them well enough to make that call._

"Why?" asked Bitch bluntly.

I looked across at her, and took my sunglasses off so that she could see my eyes. "Because you, any of you, don't deserve most of the shit that's landed on you, before and after you got your powers," I told her just as bluntly. "I can't change what's already happened, but I _will_ stand up for you now."

"Why?" she asked again. "What are we to you? What do you want from us?"

"That's actually a good question," rumbled Grue. "Both of them."

"I can't really answer the first one, not without a lot more time," I prevaricated. "Just accept that I'm on your side. I won't screw you over, and I won't let you down."

"Big talk for a guy who had us captured by the PRT once already," commented Regent idly. _"And_ who came here without any backup." He idly played with his sceptre, flipping it up and catching it again.

"He's telling the truth," Lisa interjected. "He fully intends to help us." She paused. "And Grue? If you're really considering punching him anyway? Don't."

Grue raised his head slightly. "I wasn't. What happened to you, anyway? You look like you've been in a fight. And a fire."

"I have." I didn't let my expression change. "Which is not relevant to the discussion. You guys coming or not?"

"You never said what you wanted from us," Regent pointed out.

"Right now? Don't be a smartarse. Don't be a dick. Don't attack anyone. And pay attention. That concise enough for you?"

Grue nodded slowly. I glanced at Lisa, whose jaw was slowly dropping open. "Holy shit," she whispered. I wondered what she'd picked up on. Then I wondered what she _hadn't_ picked up on. The second list was probably shorter.

"What?" asked Grue.

She shook her head. "I'll tell you later. Yeah, I'm in." She nudged Regent. "Well?"

Casually, the slender teen shrugged. "I guess. I still don't see what I get out of it, though."

"Not Heartbreaker," I reminded him bluntly.

He winced. "Low blow," he muttered.

"You kind of asked for it," I reminded him. "Rachel?"

"You can't take my dogs away," she told me defiantly.

"Wasn't about to," I replied. "But you've got to agree not to attack anyone once we're inside. Even if they look at you funny, or say something you don't like. Trust me to handle it. Got it?"

Her lips thinned; she obviously didn't like making even this concession. She glared back at me. I didn't drop my gaze; I was bigger, taller, heavier, obviously stronger. After another moment, probably to show that she wasn't a pushover, she looked away. "Fine," she muttered.

"Good." I rounded the pickup, unlocked the passenger side door. "Did you bring a vehicle, or are you on dogback?"

"We've got a car," Grue offered. "We decided not to be _too_ obvious about it."

"Okay, then," I decided. "One or two of you can ride with me. Dogs can go in the tray. The rest of you in your car. You can follow me on in, so we get there together. Yeah?"

=/=

In the end, we compromised; Lisa rode in the front of my pickup with me, while Rachel sat in the tray with her dogs around her. Grue and Regent drove behind in a car that the Undersiders had acquired from someplace; I didn't ask too closely about it.

As we started off, Lisa looked at me, at my still-bandaged arm, at my face, and seemed to be bubbling over with questions. "Did you really -" she began.

"Yeah," I confirmed.

"What _happened?"_ she burst out. "There's _something_ different about you. A whole lot. You _look_ the same, but … "

"Appearances, deceiving, check," I agreed. "Okay, in order. Heart attack, Riley, we can rebuild him."

She paused, frowning. "Riley? Wait." A pause. _"Bonesaw?"_

"Huh," I muttered. _That didn't take long._ "Yup."

"Bonesaw, holy shit," she muttered. "She's _alive?_ She's alive. Who else in the Nine's alive? The news said they were all dead."

"Just one or two," I revealed. "Most of them _are_ dead."

"You ordered the attack," she noted. "Eidolon carried it out. You said to keep some of them alive. Why? Same reason Canary's out of the Birdcage." She paused, her lips moving silently. When she spoke, it was carefully and slowly. "This is all to do with saving the world, isn't it? Same reason you want me to work with Accord and Dragon. And it's not just me, not just Weaver and Panacea. There's a whole lot of other people you're bringing in on this. Lung. Bakuda."

I checked my watch and chuckled. "Wow. Thirty seconds, and you're almost up to speed already. You're on a roll today."

She wrinkled her nose at me. "You did kind of trail the clues in front of me. All I need to know now is what we're saving the world _from."_

I didn't rise to the bait.

"You already said that you were taking the Endbringers out of the equation … " She paused, frowning. "How, exactly, were you doing that, again?"

"Well, I _hope_ I am," I confessed. "We'll know by the fifteenth of May."

"Being the projected date of the next attack, by Leviathan, in Brockton Bay," she recited promptly.

"Correct on all counts," I confirmed. "You sneaky little hacker, you."

She gave me her best shit-eating grin. "I'm Tattletale. It's what I do."

"Of course it is," I agreed. "Was that while you were checking up on me for Coil?"

"Actually, yes," she admitted. The grin was back in full force. "You scared the living shit out of him, do you know that?"

I nodded. "That _was_ the general idea, yes."

"How?"

It was my turn to grin. "Saving the world, yeah? I have allies. He met one of them. There was no contest."

Her grin was back. _"Good."_ She paused, getting herself back on track. "Okay, so is Leviathan still going to attack?"

A shrug. "With any luck, no," I told her. "Hopefully, he'll take a rain check."

She put her hand over her eyes. "I don't believe you just said that."

It took me a moment to realise what I'd just said. "Hah. Pun not intended."

"Okay, so not Endbringers," she mused. "What else can even … oh. No way. No _fucking_ way."

Again, I glanced at her. She met my gaze, despite my sunglasses. "Oh shit," she muttered. "It's true, isn't it?"

I nodded seriously. "I'm afraid so."

She stared at me "How the _fuck,"_ she asked plaintively, "are we supposed to beat _him?"_

I didn't feel like grinning, but I gave her one anyway. "Trust me," I told her. "I have a plan."

She didn't look at all reassured.

=/=

As we cruised past the PRT building, looking for a place to park, Lisa pointed. "I think that's for us."

I looked over that way, and sure enough, a PRT soldier was removing traffic cones from two angle parking spaces. He looked around and waved me over, and I pulled straight into the far one; Grue swung into the space beside. Putting the pickup out of gear, I set the park brake, killed the engine, and got out. Rachel was already climbing out; she whistled sharply, and the dogs jumped out after her.

"You weren't too uncomfortable back there?" I asked her as I locked the door.

She gave me an unreadable look. "I've had worse."

I nodded in acknowledgement, then stepped up on to the pavement. "Hi," I told the soldier. "Security. You're the escort for the Undersiders?"

He might have been a little surprised by my lack of costume, or he may simply have been checking in by radio. In any case, he took a couple of seconds to reply. "Yes, sir, I am. Follow me."

Carrying the traffic cones, he led us around to the front of the building. I was unsurprised to see that the outer door was locked until a guard inside turned a key; they obviously didn't want any unessential personnel inside the lobby right at that moment.

As we entered, I dropped back so that I was walking between Rachel and the lobby guards, with the dogs at her heel. As the doors closed behind us, the escort put the traffic cones down next to the counter and turned back to us. "The dogs will have to -"

" - come up with us," I overrode him, before Rachel could begin to fire up. "This is non-negotiable. They stay with us, every step of the way."

He shook his head. "That's not -"

"The hell it's not," I snapped. "These people were _asked_ to come in. That means that you don't get to set arbitrary rules." I stepped up to him, stood face to blank faceplate. "The dogs come with, or we walk out. Right now. Call the Director. See what she thinks."

I totally ignored the other guards in the lobby at my back; if they foamed us, they foamed us, but I wasn't going to back down, not after the assurance that I'd given Rachel, earlier.

I was pretty sure that Lisa _wanted_ to come in; the loss of income was one thing, but I liked to think that she and I had formed a certain rapport, and she wanted to know what I knew. Brian seemed less sure, but between my assurances and the help I'd given him with Aisha, I figured he was willing to give it a go. Alec would be a difficult case; I wasn't sure if I could give him a place to be, but he had the spectre of Heartbreaker looming over him. Although I had the impression that he was sticking with his teammates more or less out of inertia than of any real need to be there.

And Rachel … she had the least reason of all to trust in human nature, in the assurances of authority figures. Too many times, from her mother to the various foster parents, to the legal system when she triggered, she had learned the hard way that she could trust nobody except herself. The gulf between herself and the rest of humanity was widened by her lack of literacy and inability to divine human body language, to the point where her only valid reaction to almost anything was to lash out.

I had helped Taylor, had stood up for her when she most desperately needed it. Now, she was in a good place, in a good team, at a good school, with a good friend, making progress on her own; the lambasting she had handed me following my encounter with Lung was ample proof that she was well and truly able to stand on her own two feet. I would remain her friend, but she didn't need a protector, not any more.

Rachel, on the other hand, although she could handle herself physically, needed someone to stand up for her against authority figures, whether she wanted it or not. Her reaction to this guard would most likely have been sufficient to destroy any chances the Undersiders had for moving on to the straight and narrow, and so I stepped in.

I stood there, confronting the soldier, willing the Undersiders to stay back and let me handle it. The Director, I was certain, had afforded me a certain level of unofficial VIP status, hopefully enough to swing this.

Pretty sure, anyway.

_Fairly_ sure.

Reasonably sure?

The silence stretched out; just as I was about to turn about and tell the Undersiders that we were going, he nodded reluctantly. "They can keep the dogs. But I'll need them to hand over all weapons."

I nodded. "That's fair." I walked over to the receptionist's counter, noting that the shutters were down, and removed the Glock from my underarm holster, placing it on the counter. To this, I added my pocket knife.

The guard shook his head. "Sir, you don't have to disarm. Just the Undersiders."

I took off my sunglasses and hung them from the front of my shirt. "If they have to disarm, I disarm as well. It's as simple as that."

He wasn't about to change his ruling, and so we stood back while the pile of weapons on the counter grew; Lisa's little pistol, a knife from Grue, another from Bitch; Regent, after a meaningful glance from me, placed his sceptre down too. Lisa gave me a measured nod; by standing up for them, by disarming alongside them, I had identified myself with the Undersiders, not with the PRT. In that way, I built trust with the villain group. Or at least, I hoped so.

In any case, my pistol and pocket knife would do damn-all against any kind of threat that might come up; if Emily wanted to pull a double-cross, she knew quite well what sort of shit would fall upon her from a great height. Or at least, I devoutly hoped that was still the case.

Just as we started moving toward the elevator, I stopped and cleared my throat. Everyone looked at me. "Just so you know," I stated clearly. "If you're here, be aware that security cameras _will_ pick you up. Show yourself, now, before this gets awkward."

There was a long moment of silence, and I began to wonder if I'd underestimated Aisha's levels of mischief and curiosity. And then Tattletale made a motion with her elbow, and all of a sudden it was like Aisha had always been there, standing between her brother and the blonde. Ignoring the exclamations of surprise from the guards, she gave me a sullen look. "How the _fuck_ did you know I was here?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I didn't, not really. But I couldn't see you passing this up. And like I said, if you'd stayed hidden, you wouldn't have gotten far. That could've queered this whole deal. Not going to let that happen."

She didn't have the full Imp costume at this point; it was a dark grey bodysuit with a matching domino mask. From her expression, she was somewhat pissed at me for uncovering her little subterfuge. "And how the fuck did you know about the camera thing? _I_ didn't know that."

"I'm not on Tattletale's level," I responded, "but there's stuff I do know. And details like that about your powers? That's part of it. Now, no more screwing around. This is a serious meeting, and I'd like the end result to be acceptable to everyone here. Bullshit like using powers to sneak in like that? Bad precedent."

Grue elbowed her. "What the hell were you _thinking?"_ he asked; from the tone in his voice, he was either good at acting or he hadn't known.

From the look on Tattletale's face, she'd probably known about it and was waiting to see if any of us would pick up on it. I raised an eyebrow slightly in her direction. _Really?_

All she gave me in return was a slight shrug; I guessed it meant _Old habits die hard,_ or something of that nature.

In the meantime, Aisha was speaking. "It was just something to do," she protested. "What the fuck, B-Grue? You've done worse."

"Not when we were going in to speak to them about giving up being villains," Tattletale told her seriously. "Mike's right. We should be playing this straight all the way."

_Hypocrite,_ I thought with mild amusement; I wasn't sure what she saw in my expression or posture, but one corner of her mouth curved upward ever so slightly.

"Fine, I'll go then," Aisha muttered. "You guys are no fun." She turned toward the doors.

"Go ahead," I told her off-handedly. "We'll be making decisions about you while we're up there. Sure you don't want to be there to have a say?"

She glared at me. "You will fucking _not."_

My return gaze was almost placid. "Yes. We will. You've got the choice to get all pissy and walk out, or come in with us, don't fuck around, and get a direct say in your future. And trust me, this is about the _last_ time you get an opportunity like this."

Silence, as she tried to stare me down. From behind the mask, her eyes challenged mine. I stopped myself blinking; it was a minor physical effort, and my eyeballs started to itch after a little bit, but I was able to maintain it until she gave up.

"Fuck," she muttered, rubbing her own eyes in sympathy as I blinked a few times, "how do you fucking _do_ that?"

"Old age and treachery versus youth and enthusiasm," I advised her blandly, then held out my hand. "Knife."

Her eyes widened behind the mask. "What? I'm not carrying a knife."

I glanced at Grue. "Is she?"

He turned to her. "If you've got one, hand it over," he growled, his helmet making his voice even more menacing. "The longer we spend time on this bullshit ... "

She rolled her eyes, reached behind her back and produced a folding knife. _"Fine," _she muttered. "Be that way." She slapped it into my hand with unnecessary force.

"Thanks, I will," I replied as I dropped the knife on the counter with everything else. "You gonna behave?"

She gave me the finger. "Yeah, but I don't have to enjoy it."

"I suspect," I murmured with a smile, "that you won't be alone."

=/=

It was crowded in the lift; the PRT escort stood in one corner, while the rest of us stood around the walls, and the dogs sat in the middle, more or less at Bitch's feet. At everyone's feet. They panted happily; at that, they were the most relaxed ones in the elevator.

We didn't go all the way to the top floor; I had half expected this interview to take place in the Director's office, but of course it made more sense to hold it in a conference room. Larger, more room for people to move around. Less feeling of confinement, less chance of tempers flaring.

Not _always_ a given, with Bitch. I would have to keep an eye on her, just in case. And Aisha.

Not entirely to my surprise, when the elevator doors opened, we were met by both Armsmaster and Miss Militia.

I stepped part-way from the lift, blocking the doors, and placed myself in front of Armsmaster. "They're here by request, to discuss a potential change of status. Has this changed in any way?" _Is this just a show of force, or are you here to screw us over at the eleventh hour?_

He paused for a long moment, then shook his head. "It hasn't changed." He didn't sound happy, which, paradoxically, put me more at ease. Armsmaster couldn't put on an act to save his life. If _he_ was unhappy about villains wandering around in the PRT base, it was because he couldn't touch them.

I smiled at him, showing my teeth. "Cheer up. This goes well, pretty soon you'll be able to give _them_ orders. Won't that be nice?"

From in front of me, I heard a grunt from Armsmaster. From behind, a muted gagging sound from Aisha, or perhaps Regent. _Great. Both sides hate the idea. I do believe that's what they call an acceptable compromise._

"Excellent," I told him, still smiling. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

"Yes." He didn't sound any happier. He set off along the corridor; I stepped aside to let the others out of the elevator, and they followed him. I hung back, and fell in alongside Miss Militia, glancing briefly at the claymore she wore across her back.

"How are you?" she asked. "I heard a few things."

"Probably true," I confirmed; I was unprepared for the light punch on the arm that she gave me. "Okay, what was that for?"

She rolled her eyes above the flag-patterned scarf. "You being an idiot and trying to do everything at once. You could've been hurt. Killed, even."

"I've been told all this in detail, repeatedly," I agreed. "Yes, I was an idiot. Yes, I could've done things a bit more smoothly. I've been told off by superheroes, an ex-supervillain, and a couple of civilians. Trust me, I _got _it."

"Okay, if you say so," she agreed with a nod. The claymore became a Desert Eagle, then a hunting rifle, then a knife, which she slipped into a sheath at her belt.

I watched in fascination. "Is that you showing off, or just kind of twiddling your thumbs?"

"Yes." I couldn't see her mouth, but her tone was light; she sounded amused.

I rolled my eyes. "Smartarse."

She chuckled.

=/=

The conference room table was long enough that the Undersiders could all sit along one side of it; without even bothering to confer, the chose the side away from the door, so they could see whoever came in. Bitch sat near one corner with her dogs, then Regent, Tattletale, Aisha – I wasn't quite sure what name she was using – and Grue. I sat at the end of the table, near Bitch.

One of her dogs sniffed at me, wagging its tail; I thought it might have been the one that I had taken to them, the last time they had been in this building. Under her watchful eye, I offered my hand to sniff, then scratched the dog behind the ear. A tongue lolled, panting, and its tail wagged.

She continued to stare at me, as if trying to make me out. I looked back at her. "Did all the dogs make it out?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Your dogs. The last time you were here, you left in a hurry, to save them. Did they all make it out okay?"

"Yeah." It was a grunt. "No thanks to you."

I thought briefly about telling her that I wasn't trying to claim credit. "Good. I don't like to see dogs hurt."

Her lip curled. "You don't care about dogs. You care about _people _more."

"Sure, but I still care about dogs. I don't know them as well as you do – no-one does – but I still care." My voice was flat, uninflected, my expression neutral.

She abruptly changed tack. "Why are you on our side?" It wasn't quite disbelief any more, but she still wanted to know. "Why did you challenge Armsmaster?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the armoured hero's head come up, from where he was standing by the door. Miss Militia, more in my line of sight as she stood at the other end of the table, tilted her head slightly. Neither hero spoke, for which I was glad.

"Because I know you; I know of your history, your background, your problems. I know what you want and what you need. I know what happened to make you trigger. And believe it or not, I just want to help you, give you opportunities that you wouldn't have had otherwise. To give you a chance at a better life."

Although I was addressing them all, I spoke directly to Bitch. My tone was still flat, direct. Just for a moment, I saw her facade crack; a younger, more vulnerable Rachel looked out at me. And then she closed down again. Her voice was a grunt. "We'll see."

"Yes. We will."

=/=

Bitch and I looked around; the door had opened, and Director Piggot stood in the opening. It was she who had spoken the words; as we watched, she stepped forwards into the room. She may have been moving more easily; I couldn't be sure if it was just my imagination or not. But the steel-grey eyes were the same, witness to an indomitable will that had overcome the frailties of a body ravaged by injury and ill health. She had held together the PRT, and with it the Protectorate, in Brockton Bay for over a decade, during which time the city had slid farther and farther into decline. She nodded to me; I nodded back. "Mr Allen."

"Director Piggot," I replied politely, standing as I did so. The Undersiders followed my lead, albeit a little belatedly; Grue had to nudge Aisha to get her to do the same.

Two people followed the Director into the room; one I knew and one I did not. Aegis nodded to me; I nodded back. The other person was a greying, careworn-looking man; Piggot gestured to him. "I don't know if you've met my deputy."

"Deputy Director Renick," I greeted him, leaning across the corner of the table to offer my hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, sir."

He shook it. "The pleasure is mutual, Mr Allen. And these are the Undersiders?" He peered at them. "I was given to understand that there were four of them. I count five." Aisha made a face at him; Grue elbowed her in the ribs.

"There were, up until a few days ago," I noted. "The young lady in grey ... I believe your name might be Imp?"

She stared at me. "Okay, that's totally not fair. How are you _doing_ that?"

I gave her my best bland look. "Same way I knew about your powers." Turning back to Renick and Aegis, I added, "Imp is their latest member. She triggered during the gang war. She's likely to be the most problematic when it comes to attitude, but on the other hand, I doubt that she's participated in any major crimes that you have to worry about."

"I might have," interjected the teen sulkily. "You never know."

"For f- for god's sake, _shut up!" _muttered Grue, elbowing her again.

Director Piggot took her seat; I sat down again. Renick sat alongside the Director, then Armsmaster shut the door. Before he did, I got a glimpse of our friendly escort outside in the hallway, with at least one other guard for company. Armsmaster and Miss Militia sat flanking the Director and the Deputy Director; Aegis sat at the far end, opposite me. Miss Militia sat facing Bitch, while Armsmaster and Grue were face to face.

Director Piggot placed a device on the table, and pressed a button on it; there was a faint _beep._ "This is Emily Piggot, Director of PRT East-North-East," she recited. "This meeting is taking place in the PRT building, on Wednesday the twenty-seventh of April, two thousand and eleven. Present are myself, Deputy Director Renick, Armsmaster and Miss Militia of the Protectorate, Aegis of the Wards, Michael Allen, and the Undersiders."

She paused; I took the opportunity to speak. "So, just out of curiosity, is there actually a format for this; inducting supervillain teams into the Wards? Because I'm pretty sure there wouldn't be much need for it."

"No, there isn't," Piggot replied tightly, "but we do have a format for recruitment, and that can be adapted."

"If I might be so bold," I responded, "it's not quite the same as recruitment."

Renick looked over at me. "Would you mind explaining that statement?"

"Certainly," I told him. "Here, the stakes are higher. With recruitment, you've got the recruit wanting to show his paces, prove he's good enough to be in the Wards. Here, you've got people who are _capable_ enough to be in the Wards – or they wouldn't have made it in the supervillain world – but you're not sure if they're 'good' enough to toe the line. _You've _got to convince _them_ that it's worth their while to come in from the cold, to join the forces of law and order."

"And in the meantime," Armsmaster put in, "two of them have murder charges pending."

Bitch stiffened slightly, and Regent leaned back slightly in his chair. I shook my head.

"Nope," I stated clearly.

He paused, then leaned forward so that he could look at me more clearly. "What do you mean, 'nope'?"

"I _mean_," I retorted, "that you're going to have those charges quashed. Expunged. Written off."

Now I had _everyone_ staring at me.

"That's not going to happen," Armsmaster assured me flatly.

"Sure it is," I replied. "Any halfway competent judge would drop the charges to involuntary manslaughter in a heartbeat." I indicated Bitch with a nod. "Trigger event, untrained dog, scared child, involving someone who tried to _murder_ her _dog._ She did not mean to make her dog grow large, and she didn't have the wherewithal to rein the poor creature in once it was grown. I'm not saying the woman deserved it, but I'm also saying that Rachel doesn't deserve to be prosecuted for something that happened very much in the heat of the moment."

"Her crimes since -" he began.

" - happened because she's _never_ had an authority figure that she could trust. Just _one_ social worker who understood that she was being emotionally abused, _one_ foster parent who actually cared for her instead of the money they were getting. Never happened. Society failed her, and when she triggered, society paid. Now, she wants to end the cycle. _She_ does. Do not even consider trying to perpetuate it because of a mistake _someone else_ made."

My voice was low and cold and hard, and I was gripping the edge of the table. I stopped myself with an effort, breathed in and out through my nostrils. Let go the table, trying to ignore the shallow depressions that my fingertips had left behind. Raised my head and lightened my tone. "Seriously, give the kid a _break._ Geez."

Silence fell across the room; if I'd thought that everyone was staring at me before, that was nothing on the intensity of their combined gaze at this moment. Miss Militia's eyes were wider than normal, and her right hand was out of sight under the table; I had no doubt but that she had something suitably lethal in it. The Deputy Director was looking very slightly apprehensive; I had equally little doubt that he'd been briefed in on the modifications that Riley had given me. The Director's face was hard, although I wasn't quite sure what was going through her mind. Armsmaster's lips were pressed together to the point that they were almost invisible.

At the other end of the table, Aegis was studying me carefully, as if trying to decide if he could take me. Grue's face was hidden behind his visor, of course, but it was still turned toward me. Aisha's eyes were wide behind the domino mask; perhaps she was revising whatever opinion she held of me. Lisa's gaze bored into mine, with what might have been flashes of understanding flickering across her face. Regent looked bored, but I was pretty sure that was a facade; he'd had years to perfect it. And Bitch … she was looking at me as though she'd never seen me before.

Deputy Director Renick cleared his throat; a few people jumped. "I, uh … those were very evocative words, Mr Allen. I'm sure we can definitely revisit the facts of that case, see about taking those factors into account. But what about the other one? Regent, also known as Hijack, also known as Jean-Paul Vasil? His charges cannot be ascribed to a trigger event."

Regent was leaning forward in his chair, his eyes fixed on the Deputy Director. I gestured to get his attention, shook my head slightly. Then I turned to Renick.

"No, that's true. Not a trigger event situation at all. Regent's even easier to deal with. His father's name is Nikos Vasil. Otherwise known as Heartbreaker. He's a Master, who controls people via their emotions. He had Jean-Paul Mastered almost from birth. Once he hit the boy with a dose of terror so bad, he didn't speak for six months or more. I think this was over an argument with his sisters about who got the TV remote."

I paused to let this sink in. I was breathing more deeply, letting the calm sink back into my centre. Talking about Bitch had unsettled me on an emotional level; I was surprised about how angry I had let myself get.

"So yeah, when he managed to force his kid to trigger – oh yeah, Heartbreaker _forces _his children to trigger – he then wanted to make sure that he could uphold family loyalty. So he told him to kill an underling." I paused. "I just want to make this clear. His _father,_ a _Master, ordered _him to do this. The man who _could and would_ inflict a terrifying emotional penalty on him if he failed, or disobeyed orders. In fact, had done just that in the past. _And_ he was a minor. I'm pretty sure we can work a case for coercion out of that. Maybe even diminished responsibility." I leaned back in my chair. "So yeah, not exactly bad to the bone serial killers, either one."

Emily Piggot nodded. "Your points are valid, Mr Allen. There are many situations where trigger events have cost lives; occasionally, even those of family members. And of course, yes, Masters muddy the waters considerably when it comes to determining ultimate responsibility for a crime. Heartbreaker is _still_ a problem that the Canadian authorities are trying to deal with, much as Nilbog is a thorn in our side." She paused. "You don't happen to have a solution for _that,_ do you?"

I shook my head. "Not a cut and dried solution, no. But Nilbog – Jamie Rinke – actually has his real body buried some distance underground. The Goblin King is a remote controlled puppet. This is why you were never able to kill him, before."

Her eyes widened fractionally, and I saw the wheels turning behind her eyes. "So _that's _it … " she murmured, then she regained her professional mien. "Well, that's a problem for another time. Right now, we have five potentially troublesome super-powered teenagers who want to go straight." She gave them,collectively, a hard stare. "Convince me why this is a good idea."

I folded my hands before me. "Well, actually, I don't think all of them need to go into the Wards."

=/=

With admirable self-control, Emily Piggot got a grip on herself; she looked like she wanted to either facepalm or bang her head against the table. "Kindly explain," she gritted.

"Well, Grue's a good one for the Wards," I hastened to tell her. "He would have great synergy with Weaver; as we've already proven, her bug control works inside his darkness. Likewise, Tattletale's really good at figuring out the weaknesses of an enemy." Grue didn't seem to react; Lisa just looked smug.

"And of the other three?" asked Renick. "Two people with current murder charges and a very new recruit?"

I nodded. "Imp has the ability to make people forget her. Cameras can see her, but anyone looking directly at her basically forgets the fact that she exists. As you can imagine, this has amazing potential in the field." I held up a finger. "She _does_ have a slight problem with attention span, but even recognising this lets you work with it."

Renick nodded. "That's not an insurmountable problem."

"Also," I added, "Grue's criminal activity to date has been aimed at getting security for Imp; specifically, to get her out of her current family situation. Which, admittedly, is horrible. Give him custody of her, and I'm pretty sure that they'd both be happy with that arrangement."

"Given the specific information, I'm sure that something could be worked out," Renick agreed, in his element at last. "Also, each of you would be paid a wage, and more into a trust fund. You _would_ be required to attend schooling -"

"Whoa, whoa," objected the youngest Undersider, making a 'time-out' motion. "Deal breaker, deal breaker."

"No," Grue admonished her. "This is looking good. They'll _pay_ us for this, and you can leave … her. Don't go pulling that shit now." He looked up. "Sorry, sir. Oh, and just by the way, I've already gotten my GED online."

"So have I," Tattletale added. "So far, it's just Imp we have to worry about."

"I don't want to have to go to school," grumped Aisha, slumping down into her chair. "School's for _losers."_

"I don't want to go to school either," Bitch stated flatly. "They'll call me stupid. I've already had enough of that."

Leaning back in his chair, Regent made a careless gesture that very adequately conveyed the opinion that school was a waste of time, and he didn't want to attend either. I ignored him for the moment, and focused on Bitch. For her, I had a potential solution; for him, not so much.

"I have a question," I posited. "How much reward money is coming my way for giving Eidolon the information on the Nine?"

Piggot frowned, ignoring the raised eyebrows around the room. "It hasn't been cleared yet, but it will only be a small fraction of the full total. Why, did you want a payout?"

I shook my head. "I want to use it to establish a dog pound. A big one. On land that's not being used any more." By now, I had Bitch's undivided attention. I nodded to her. "You go to Rachel here for the specifications you need, and you get her to run it. She gets final say on all decisions. Close down all the other municipal dog pounds, all the shelters, funnel them all in to her."

Rachel shook her head, looking unsure for the first time since I'd met her. "I – I can't run a place like that. I can take care of dogs. I can't do the business side of things."

"It's not going to be a problem," I assured her. "There'll be staff on hand to deal with paperwork and other bullshit. You're the one who'll be taking care of the dogs, having people telling you what the paperwork means, and telling people what to do about it. And _you'll_ be paying _them_, so they'll have to do what you say."

Piggot grimaced. "I don't know, Mr Allen. What you're saying _sounds_ good, but it will be a very expensive operation. Paying enough staff to maintain the dogs, as well as feeding, veterinary bills, and so on … "

"That's the other half of the operation," I told her. "Training."

"Training?" asked Renick.

Rachel's expression was changing as she grasped my meaning. "Training?" she asked also, but in an entirely different tone to Renick's.

"Training," I affirmed. "Rachel, think you could train a police dog?"

She curled her lip, but only slightly. "You know I can."

I nodded firmly. "Yes, I know." I turned my head slightly, so as to address Renick, but keeping her in my field of view. "Rachel Lindt _understands_ dogs, sir. She understands them on a deeper level than you or I ever could. We look at a dog and see a head, a body, four legs, a tail. If the tail's wagging, it's probably happy. _Rachel_ looks at a dog and sees what it's thinking, what it wants, how to communicate with it. She can train dogs because she can think like them. I'd be willing to bet that she could train dogs for the police, the military, for search and rescue, drug sniffing, guide dogs for the blind, and a host of other purposes, and she'd do it easier, faster and more effectively than any other so-called dog expert in the world."

"And each and every one of those organisations," Lisa added brightly, "would be willing to pay through the nose for a dog that's trained to the level that Rachel's capable of."

Renick looked thoughtful. "I see. That could really work, especially with the seed money to start it off." He looked at Rachel. "You would be willing to do this work, miss?"

"Sure," she replied bluntly. "So long as I was in charge, like he said."

He didn't take offence at her tone; instead, he looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment. She began to bristle, but I caught her eye and shook my head slightly. "He's thinking about it," I murmured.

"Oh." She subsided. Her hands, clenched into fists, relaxed slightly.

Renick turned to Piggot. "Director, do you think it's a viable opportunity?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. "We'd have to work around NEPEA-Five, but I think it's doable, especially with PRT backing."

"What's that?" I asked.

It was Renick who answered. "A government bill seeking to limit parahuman involvement in business and media. But it's aimed at parahumans combining their capabilities to outperform competitors in an unfair manner. Ms Lindt will be working on her own, with normal human backing."

I could almost _feel_ Rachel's tension ratcheting up beside me. Hastily I asked, "But it won't be a problem? With the reward money, this could get done?"

"Oh, certainly," Renick confirmed. "We'd have to do some serious brushcutting of red tape, but once the Mayor's office realises that they can shut down their shelters and pounds, and allocate funds elsewhere, I can't see there being a problem."

"And anything that gets those damn monster dogs off of my streets is a _good_ thing," growled the Director.

"Oh, I don't think that they'd be _gone_ from the streets," I interjected mildly. "But when she takes them out for a run, she won't be setting out to break the law in the process. Which has to be a bonus, right?"

She shot me a sour look. "Anything's too much. But this is a good start."

Renick made a note on his own pad. "I'll start making phone calls once we finish here."

"Which brings us to Regent," I noted. "Last but, as the saying goes, not least."

Alec leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table so that he could look down toward me. "So what kind of rabbit are you going to pull out of your non-existent hat for me? I'm a Master. Nobody wants me in their precious super-teams. Especially when it comes to who my father is, because somehow that _never_ goes away."

I nodded. "That's a very good point. But I didn't arrange for you guys to get a chance to talk to the Director without giving you a chance as well."

He shrugged elaborately. "Don't see them laying out the red carpet for me."

I gave him a hard stare. "If you got offered a place, would you take it?"

Another shrug. "Not sure I'm all that interested in going to school."

I tried not to frown. I'd known he was very passive-aggressive, but this was like trying to set fire to a lump of jello. Whatever tactic I used, he just absorbed.

_He and Aisha were a thing, in another time and place._

"Uh, maybe you and Imp could attend the same school, take classes together," I suggested off the top of my head. "Be study buddies, whatever. Laugh at the geeks and nerds and jocks who've got no idea who you really are."

That actually seemed to get his attention; Aisha looked around as well. "Him?" she snorted. "Captain Lazy-Ass?"

He sneered at her; she gave him the finger.

_Well, there goes that idea._

Piggot cleared her throat. "Just before you go any farther, Mr Allen. I do not feel comfortable with offering a place in the Wards to Regent. Given his history … "

"Hm," I grunted. "There's got to be _something … "_

"You can't solve all the problems of the world, Mr Allen," counselled the Director. "Perhaps if he attends a long period of therapy, I might be able to reconsider. But not right now."

I blinked. "Wait, what did you say?"

She stared at me. "I said that I might reconsider if he gets treatment, but not at the moment."

I shook my head, excited. "No, no, something else you said. Tip of the tongue, tip of the tongue. Tattetale, help me out here."

"What? How?" She was alert, trying to grasp my meaning.

"Something the Director said, it can help Regent. Something he can do. A word. Thing."

She paused briefly. "Therapy." Another pause. "Physiotherapy. Holy shit, you're a genius."

Regent looked at me and then at Lisa, giving him the appearance of a spectator at a tennis match. Piggot was apparently trying to ignore Lisa, and so was focused on me. "I fail to see the reason that you are so excited. Kindly fill the rest of us in."

I spread my hands. "Don't you get it? Director, you were in a strike squad, right?"

She nodded. "Yes, a long time ago. How is this relevant?"

"Well, people got injured. They got better, but sometimes the leg or arm never works right afterward. As far as the doctors are concerned, the nerves are all in working order, but the brain's forgotten how to use them. Yeah?"

She was slow to answer. "Yes. Happened to a friend of mine."

"And Regent can override someone's nerves. If he can activate those nerves after an injury, and _prove_ to the person that the body part _can_ be moved, then that should cut down recovery time dramatically."

While Piggot was considering that, Lisa cut in once more. "And there's another reason that he'd be great for it. He doesn't actually care about people."

Miss Militia frowned. "That doesn't exactly sound like someone who'd be good as a medical professional."

Lisa gave her most fox-like grin. "Ah, but physical therapists have to be able to push their patients past the pain. If they cared too much, they'd stop as soon as it started getting difficult. Regent would be able to see the point where it really would start getting too much, and he'd be able to push them to that point and stop there."

"Still, I don't know that many medical organisations would be willing to hire on an ex-supervillain as a physical therapist … " Renick's voice sounded reluctant to voice the opinion.

"Hah!" Everyone turned to look at Aegis. He cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry. But it just occurred to me."

"What did?" asked Armsmaster.

"_We_ hire him," Aegis suggested. "PRT in-house physical therapist. He's getting a wage, he's where we can see him, and PRT troopers are getting hurt all the time. He'd be perfect."

"Except for the fact that he's a _Master,"_ objected the Director. "Do we really want him around our wounded troopers?"

I shrugged. "Assign him a guard when he's on duty. It takes him a lot of effort, and a few hours of concentration, to actually acclimate to a single person to the point that he can control them thereafter. And the person kind of notices. If anyone mentions it, the guard deals with the situation."

Aegis nodded down the length of the table to me. "Exactly."

I glanced at the Director. "Any other objections?"

She glowered back at me. "Many, but none that actually seem valid."

"Good. Regent, what do you think?"

He seemed to perk up slightly. "So I get to put the hurt on PRT goons, and get paid for it?"

Armsmaster bristled slightly. "I wouldn't put it _exactly_ like that, but … "

"But that's basically it, yeah?"

The armoured hero nodded heavily. "Yes."

Regent grinned. "Sign me up. It might even be fun."

_Yeah, **that's** not creepy at all._

"I'm going to presume that you're joking, Regent," I stated firmly. "You _are_ joking, right?"

He must have seen something in my face. "Yeah, joking. Right. Not about to cause any unnecessary pain."

"Well then," I noted. "That seems to be about that. Anyone else got a problem with the idea? Or anything else we've covered?"

"That does seem to be about it," agreed Renick. "Anyone else? Miss Militia? Armsmaster?"

Hannah shook her head. "I don't have anything to add," she stated quietly.

"I do." Armsmaster's voice was firm. "You're all criminals, or you've associated with criminals. You will all be on probation. Put a foot wrong, and criminal charges _will_ be preferred."

I cleared my throat. "No."

He turned toward me. "I _beg_ your pardon? I am the leader of the Protectorate here in Brockton Bay. You don't overrule me on something like this."

"With all due respect," I told him flatly, "the rules are changing and you know it. _Think_ about it for a moment." I paused. "Probationary, yes. On probation, no. They won't screw up. They know they'll have to face _me_ if they do."

He paused, then reluctantly nodded. "Director, I retract the statement about probation."

She didn't look happy, but she nodded as well. "Thank you, Armsmaster. Aegis?"

"I'm actually on board with the idea," Aegis replied. "Browbeat told us how Regent and, uh, Rachel took him down, before he joined the Wards. I'd much rather have you guys on _our_ side. Especially knowing what you can do."

"Which brings us to the Undersiders," Renick noted. "Do any of you have issues with what we've spoken about today?"

Rachel shook her head. "Just do what you said you would."

No-one else seemed willing to comment; Director Piggot reached out to the recorder. "This meeting is over. Stopping recorder – now."

Just as she pressed the button, Aisha let out a muffled sound; looking over, I saw that Lisa had her hand over the shorter teen's mouth. Piggot looked at them suspiciously, as Lisa took her hand away. "What's that about?"

"Nothing," Lisa told her innocently. "My hand slipped."

Piggot stared hard at her, then at Aisha. "Is that what happened?"

"Yeah," Aisha admitted reluctantly. "Her hand slipped. That's what happened."

_Like hell,_ I thought. _Aisha was about to say something obscene so it went on to the recording, and Lisa stopped her._

"Indeed." Piggot's expression told me that she had a good idea of what was really going on, but that she was not intending to pursue it at that moment. I figured that Aisha would have to smarten her act up if she wasn't to end up in trouble, once she joined the Wards.

But then, once that happened, it wasn't going to be my problem any more.

One by one, we stood up; Aegis reached across to Grue. "It'll be good having you guys in the Wards," he stated. "I mean it."

Grue shook his hand. "It should be interesting, all right," he agreed.

I rounded the table and shook Renick's hand, and Piggot's as well. "Thank you for doing this," I told her.

"Thank you for helping keep order," she replied. "I suspect it could have gone a lot worse, otherwise." Her gaze narrowed. "I just hope I'm not going to regret this in days to come."

"Look at it this way," I suggested. "When they cause problems, you'll know exactly where to get hold of them."

She tilted her head slightly. "You're right. That improves matters. Not totally, but just a little." A pause, while she looked at me appraisingly. "You're an aggravating man, but at least you're trying to _solve_ problems, not _create_ them."

"Which reminds me," I told her. "Spread the word. Friday night. Everyone you've managed to gather. Here instead of my place. I'm going to up the ante a little. Tell people some more of what's going on."

Her eyes opened a little wider. "More?"

"More." My voice was firm.

She nodded, decisively. "What time?"

"It'll start once we're all here," I told her. "There's a precog, remember?"

"Understood. I'll be here."

"Good. Bring Lung and Bakuda."

She blinked. "You have to be _fucking_ kidding."

"Nope. Bring 'em. It's time they understood what's really going on."

"I just hope it doesn't blow up in your face."

"So do I," I told her soberly. "So do I."

=/=

Aegis and I escorted the Undersiders down in the elevator. Bitch was silent, but it was a thoughtful silence rather than her usual glowering near-rage. Aisha looked sullen, but Lisa couldn't stop grinning. Regent and Grue were as impassive as ever.

In the lobby, we reclaimed our weapons; I checked the Glock and put it away, and slid the pocket knife into my back pocket. As Lisa put her own pistol away, I leaned close to her. "Friday night. Meet me here. Sierra Tango Whiskey business."

She raised an eyebrow. "What time?"

I grinned. "You'll figure it out."

As we crossed the lobby, Aisha burst out, "I can't _believe_ you're gonna make me go to school!"

"Hey," I told her. "Trust me. An education is something you should not miss out on."

"Says the security guard," she retorted.

"Hey," Grue told her, swatting her lightly on the head. "Respect the man who saved your life."

"Yeah, sorry," she mumbled. "But you aren't much of an example of higher education."

"I passed year twelve," I told her. "If I'd been better at studying, I'd probably be doing something different, more profitable. Or maybe not. It's all about giving yourself more opportunities. Slack off at school, your opportunities will probably boil down to 'do you want fries with that?'."

"Or, you know, being a kickass supervillain," she pointed out.

"Who knows shit-all about maths," I replied. "How are you at percentages and basic math?"

"Uh, not so great," she admitted.

I grinned. "Well, if you really want to be a kickass supervillain, it's easier with math skills. Just saying."

She wrinkled her nose. "But _school … "_

I shrugged heartlessly. "You want to get somewhere in life, you gotta put in the hard yards."

The guard opened the doors, and they trooped out; Grue paused to shake my hand. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. I look forward to seeing how you get on."

A nod, and he turned and strode out through the closing doors. As they slid shut, I heard Aisha's wail one more time.

"_School … "_

* * *

End of Chapter Forty-Five


	46. Chapter 46

**Security!**

* * *

Part Forty-Six: Recruitment Drive

* * *

**Thursday, April 28, 2011**

* * *

I slowed the pickup as I neared the rendezvous point; when I saw Kayden waving, I pulled over to the side of the road. Leaning across, I pulled up the plastic tab that unlocked the door; she opened it and got in.

"Hi," I greeted her. "Thanks for helping set this up. I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with it."

She wrinkled her nose. "Well, I'm not all _that_ thrilled at the idea of a one-on-one with the man, but you _did_ say that it was important."

"It's definitely important," I confirmed. "I could've gotten in touch with him through my own channels, but we're not on the best of terms, and I don't need to be any more behind the eight-ball than I already am." I put the vehicle into gear and pulled into traffic.

"So I hear." She smiled at me. "Legend told me an interesting story about a rooftop rescue."

"That happened, yeah," I sighed. "And there was an earlier meeting, at my place. I suspect he had Fog let him in. I kind of told him to leave, in no uncertain terms."

"I would've paid money to see _that_," she chuckled. "He doesn't often get told 'no'."

"I can understand. He's very … charismatic." I paused, as she kicked aside miscellaneous trash. "Excuse the mess. I don't often have passengers, so the footwell ends up as a rubbish bin."

"That's fine," she assured me. "I can still see the floor. I rode in Justin's car once; now, _that_ was messy."

"Yeah, he always came across to me as a bit of a redneck," I agreed.

She said nothing in reply, but she did give me an odd look.

"What?" I asked.

"To the best of my knowledge, you've never _met_ the man," she pointed out. "How did you know that about him?"

I shrugged. "Same way I knew it was a good idea to give you a heads-up when we took down Coil."

"That's _not_ an answer," Kayden told me severely.

"I know," I replied cheerfully. "But things will become somewhat more clear in good time." I grinned at her. "So, how's things getting along between you and Aster and the guys?"

The smile that broke across her face was like the sun coming up. "She's getting bigger all the time. Legend and Arthur just adore her, and she loves them, too. And it's so nice -" She cut herself off.

"So nice ...?" I raised an eyebrow.

She took a deep breath. "So nice to be around men who aren't trying to _control_ me, who are willing to let me be _me."_

"Well, yeah, that _was_ the general idea," I admitted. "I've never actually met Arthur, but Legend's a really nice guy."

"He's been helping me settle in with the New York Protectorate," she agreed. "I'm pretty sure that some of them have figured out who I am, but I've had nothing but encouragement."

"Well, that's good to hear. Really good." I paused, as our destination came into view. "Talking about encouragement, are you sure you're okay with doing this? I mean, I figure I can go in alone if I need to."

"Uh huh." She looked me over, her eyes lingering on the dressing that I still wore on my forearm, legacy of my 'discussion' with Lung. "I'm told you have a habit of trying to go it alone. I think it's better all round if I go with you."

It didn't take me long to decide that she had the right of it. "Yeah," I agreed. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Parking the pickup at the curb, I got out. Kayden did likewise; as I rounded the front end of the vehicle, we looked up toward the large house, set back just a little way from the road.

"This is the place, huh?"

She nodded in reply to my question. "This is where he said he'd meet us."

"Hmm." Last-minute doubts assailed me. "I'm just hoping he doesn't do something I'll regret."

A slight smile. "Relax. You'll be a guest. No harm will come to you."

I was more worried about the meeting going badly than harm coming to me, though not _entirely_ so. The injuries I had gotten from Lung were healing nicely – Riley was _good_ at what she did – but they were still a reminder of the fact that I was still mortal, could still be hurt. Could still be killed.

Which was apparently looming in my future, really soon, according to Dinah. _Fuckin' __**yay**__._

_Well, if it's gonna happen, may as well make it count._

I took a deep breath. "Let's go do this thing."

* * *

The front door was on the large size, and even the doorbell was ornate enough to complement the decor. I pressed it; stately chimes sounded in the depths of the house. We waited.

Looking around, I managed to make out a discreet security camera dome under the eaves, and another toward the corner of the house. They were darkened, so that the cameras within could not be seen, but I had no doubt that we were under surveillance.

"Maybe I should try again?" I murmured.

"No." She shook her head. "If this is a power play on his part, and I wouldn't put it past him, then pressing again counts as a win in his book."

"So we wait?"

She nodded. "We wait."

We waited. The lawn was neatly kept; carefully-trimmed bushes here and there added a nice touch to the surroundings. I watched as butterflies flitted from one topiary piece to the next; here and there, other bugs buzzed or hummed or crept. _Taylor,_ I decided, _would kick ass here._

Not that she didn't kick ass anywhere she went. Especially with her new best friend to supply her with bugs in varieties never before found in nature. For a moment, my mind wandered, imagining her as a time traveller. _Oh god, I can just imagine her in the Carboniferous, with those monster bugs. She'd __**own**__ the place._

The door lock clicked, disturbing my thoughts, and I snapped back to the here and now. It opened silently, without even a squeak from the hinges; that took, I decided, a certain amount of dedicated maintenance. I gestured for Kayden to precede me; she stepped forward.

"James," she greeted the man who had opened the door; he was broad-shouldered, a little shorter than me.

"Kayden," he replied evenly, then glanced at me.

"He's here to speak to Max," she told him.

"He's PRT," he stated with a frown.

I shook my head. "I'm actually not."

For the first time, he addressed me. "You were working with them to take down the last of the ABB and the Merchants."

_Now, I wonder where he gets his information from. _It was something that I'd have to look into.

"I've worked _with_ them yes," I agreed. "But I'm not _with _them. They have trouble with the way that I ignore rules I don't like. In any case, what I'm here about is a lot more important than some petty hero-villain squabble."

This raised a frown, but he nodded slightly. "Come in." His voice was less than welcoming, but I didn't care; it was better than being turned away.

"Thank you." I stepped inside and held out my hand. "Mike Allen."

It would have been blatantly rude for him to ignore me, so he shook it. "James Fleischer." His grip was firm; I decided that he must work out, but not all that regularly.

"Kreig," I noted, although I'd guessed at his identity earlier. "You're the kinetic."

His lips compressed, and I realised, a little late, that Coil's fuck-you present had probably left him more than a little annoyed. Casually noting his secret identity would not have scored me any points with him.

"If you say so," he growled, keeping himself under control. "Max is through here."

"Just so you know," I commented, trying to recover some lost ground, "I knew your identity before Coil let it slip."

"And that's supposed to make me feel happier?" It obviously hadn't.

"I didn't out you. And I wouldn't have." I tried to make the point without obviously trying to make the point; harder than it seems.

It seemed to me that the set of his shoulders relaxed slightly, though I could easily have been mistaken. I didn't get the chance to follow up on it, because at that moment I entered the presence of the man called Kaiser for the third time.

* * *

He was holding a cut-glass tumbler of alcohol; I could smell what seemed to be high-quality whiskey, though I couldn't be sure. As we entered, he emptied the glass and placed it on a side table, without offering one to either of us. The insult, I figured, was calculated and aimed at the both of us. Not that it bothered me all that much; I don't drink, and even if I did, I would have felt more comfortable drinking in the presence of a redback spider, or a western desert taipan.

"Kayden," he greeted my companion. "How nice to see you again."

"Max," she responded. "I see you're still as pleasant as ever." _As full of crap as ever, _I deciphered without too much trouble.

As with his insult to me, hers rolled off of his back, as of metaphorical water off of an equally metaphorical duck. "And I see that you've brought the ever … _interesting_ Mr Allen with you. Are you spending time with him these days?"

The tone indicated his real meaning; in not so many words, he had just asked her if we were sleeping together, and managed to make it sound dirty.

"No, he's merely a friend," she responded. "A _real_ friend." _Unlike_, her tone implied, _anyone else here._

I took the opportunity to glance around the room, at the company Kaiser had chosen to witness this meeting. The twins sat demurely, sharing a love-seat; they turned identical, coolly appraising, gazes upon me. Hookwolf sneered at me from where he leaned against the wall near Cricket; the latter had shed her facial cage for the moment, and looked curiously vulnerable. Looks, I knew, could be deceiving; I took care not to stare at her visible scars.

Night and Fog were not present; I presumed that Kaiser had specially requested their presence for the meeting in my flat. Neither was Crusader or Rune; I presumed that the teenager was at school somewhere. However, Alabaster was attending, as was Stormtiger. Nobody was masked up, which indicated either the presence of quite a bit of self-confidence, or a singular lack of caring. Or perhaps both.

"I can see that you've fallen on hard times, Kayden," Kaiser addressed her smoothly, apparently untouched by the barb. A tightening around the eyes, however, suggested that he was holding his temper in what seemed to be an iron grip. _Pun intended,_ I decided with inner amusement. "You know that you can always come back to the Empire. Run it at my side."

So reasonable was his tone that I half expected her to agree, to walk to his side. Almost, I would have encouraged her in 'the right thing to do', if I hadn't known what Kaiser was like. The man, I decided, was even more charismatic than I recalled. And his powers weren't the only dangerous thing about him.

She smiled blandly back at him. "Not right now, Max. I think I'll keep my options open." Which translated in my mind as _Not a hope in hell, you slimy bastard._ Or some close approximation thereof.

The initial pleasantries dispensed with, Kaiser turned to me. "We meet again – _Security."_

"We do indeed, Mr Anders," I agreed, deliberately using his real name. Firmly suppressing the part of me that wanted to continue with _It appears that you've been living two lives _– I really wasn't sure that he'd find it funny, even if he got the joke – I held out my hand. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting."

He shook it, exerting his grip in the age-old dominance ritual. I matched him grip for grip; I didn't feel like humiliating him just yet, but nor was I going to knuckle under to him. This also told me that he hadn't heard, or didn't believe, the news regarding Riley's upgrade. His expression did not change the whole time; if he found my grip exceptional, he never showed it.

"You did ask politely," he pointed out once the contest had ended in a draw, "and you sent the invitation through Kayden. It would have been churlish of me to refuse."

"Well, you've reached out to me twice," I noted. "It _was_ kind of my turn."

Kaiser and I both knew that 'reached out' was a very restrained way to put it; the first time, he had been waiting for me in my flat. The second, he'd had me 'escorted' to him, without much choice in the matter.

This time, _I_ had come to _him_. _Third time lucky, _I mused._ Lucky for whom, I wonder?_

"Each of the other times," he observed, "you were not particularly friendly."

"Are you really surprised?" I asked rhetorically. "I still don't like you. But like you, I'm a pragmatist. I'm not about to let the way you do business get in the way of what needs doing."

His gaze on my face sharpened. "I seem to recall that the last time we spoke, you casually mentioned 'saving the world', as it it were your own pet, personal project."

"I did, and it is," I agreed. "Oh, it's being _attempted_ by other parties, but they were quite literally flailing around in the dark. You could say that I added some illumination to the matter."

His lips tightened. "You do not strike me as the sort of person to be setting out to save the world." _Translation: I think you're trying to bullshit me._

"Maybe you're not looking hard enough." I looked around the room. "When we last spoke, I mentioned several members of the Empire. Do you recall who they were?"

Kaiser tilted his head slightly. "Myself, Menja and Fenja, Rune, Hookwolf, Othala and Victor."

I nodded. "Good memory."

"It helps in business. Why those names? Why not anyone else?"

"Oh, others can attend if they want," I assured him. "Crusader could probably be added to the list. Maybe Fog, but not Night. Primarily, I want the big hitters. The ones who can land a hit, take a hit, or do something else that's useful in a massive knock-down drag-out fight against a single, highly mobile, devastatingly dangerous opponent."

There was silence in the room as my words sank in. Hookwolf straightened from his posture against the wall, but no-one else moved.

"You want to recruit the _Empire_ for this?" Kaiser's voice was borderline incredulous.

"No." Mine was hard, flat. "I want to recruit _everyone."_ I tapped the dressing on my arm. "This was me convincing Lung that I was serious."

"Lung." The voice came from behind me; Kreig. _"You_ fought _Lung_ and _survived?"_

"Twice, actually." I turned to face him. "I'm not playing around here. I'm here to issue an invitation to a meeting. Anyone who doesn't think they've got anything to bring to an Endbringer battle, don't bother showing up. The names I gave? They're specifically invited."

"And the rest of us aren't?"

I sighed. "If you want to show up, you can. You _will_ be required to maintain absolute secrecy about what happens there. I'm not bullshitting here; if any of you go with the intent to break it wide open for shits and giggles, you won't be walking out again."

"And Purity? She's invited, too?" asked Kaiser. Kayden bridled.

"_Evenstar_ is definitely invited, yes," I informed him.

"Who else will be there?" asked Kreig.

I resisted the impulse to roll my eyes. "People who need to know about the situation. People who can help win the coming war. So trust me, if you front up to the table, and you have a problem with anyone else there, they're not the ones who are gonna have to step back."

"You've referred to this as a 'war', Mr Allen," Kaiser noted slowly. "You've also given the impression that whatever this fight is against, it's either an Endbringer or the equivalent. But there's been no Endbringer emergence anywhere in the world. More to the point, when we first spoke, you made a comment to the effect that Leviathan had been due to strike here, but that you had taken steps to prevent it."

"All true," I agreed. "Though I misspoke when I said it was Menja who was going to die." I glanced over at the twins on the love seat. "Sorry, it was Fenja. My bad."

One of them came to her feet, a fast and fluid move. "Did you just threaten me?"

"No." My voice was flat. "I just told you that you're off the hook. Just like your boss and Alabaster."

Alabaster's head came up. "You're saying I was going to die, but now I'm not? How?"

"Long story short, time bubble grenade. You end up sharing eternity with Dauntless and Jotun."

"So, not dead."

"Close enough. No-one ever really figures out a way to get you out of it."

He grimaced. "Christ."

"We're getting off point here," Kaiser noted, his voice just a little sharp. "Mr Allen says that it's not going to happen any more; even if Leviathan does attack -" I got the impression that he was dubious about that, for obvious reasons, "- we should be able to avoid our so-called predestined fates." He paused and took a breath. "What we _should_ be focusing on is the current matter."

Hookwolf took a step forward. "Who we gonna fight?"

"That'll come up at the meeting," I told him. I looked at each of them in turn. "You know who's invited. Anyone else who wants to turn up is free to do so. _Nobody_ talks about what goes on in the meeting. Not to anyone, ever. Is that absolutely understood?"

"I don't like being told what to do by some fat old security guard. Is _that_ absolutely understood?" Hookwolf's voice was mocking; he showed his teeth, took a few steps closer. "And Legend ain't here to save your ass, now."

The light in the room started to change; Kayden had started to glow. "No. But I am."

He looked past me, shading his eyes. "You wouldn't attack me to help him."

"Try me." Her voice was flat.

"Kayden. Evenstar. Thanks, but we're good here." I took a step toward Hookwolf. "You really, really don't want to go there, Brad."

"Don't tell me what to do, _fat man_." He stepped toward me; I tensed. But then a fence of spikes shot up between us.

"_He's_ not telling you what to do, Hookwolf." Kaiser's voice was hard. _"I_ am."

I took a breath, reined in the combat mods that were starting to take over. Forced the aggressiveness back into its box. Behind me, the light levels dropped again as Kayden restrained her power.

"Despite our feelings on the matter, Mr Allen is a guest." Kaiser's voice was calm, over an undercurrent of anger. "We treat him as such. And until further notice, we treat what he is saying as deadly serious."

Keeping half an eye on Hookwolf, just in case, I turned toward him. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"I didn't say it for _your_ sake." He lifted his chin slightly. "Tell me, right now, to my face, that this meeting is not a trap, and I will attend, with my people."

"It's not a trap." My gaze was steady on his; after a long moment, he nodded curtly.

"When and where?"

I nodded in return. "PRT building, tomorrow evening, seven o'clock."

Everyone except Kayden reacted to that; even Kaiser's eyes narrowed.

"Mr Allen. You still say that this is not a trap?"

"No." I was working hard to stay patient. "It's _not a trap."_

His gaze bored into mine; around the room, I felt rather than heard the other members of the Empire Eighty-Eight shifting restlessly. I wanted to look, to make sure that no-one was getting too close, but nor did I want to make it appear as though I was backing down from Kaiser.

After a long, long moment, he nodded again, abruptly. "We will be there."

"Good." I inclined my head briefly. "I'll see you there." Turning, I nodded to Kayden. "We're done here. Let's go."

She didn't say a word, merely fell into step with me. We were halfway down the entrance hall when Kaiser's voice cut through the air. "Purity."

She didn't react, kept walking.

"Kayden."

She paused in her steady stride; I stopped also, as she turned her head. "What?"

"I forgot to ask; how is our daughter?"

"_Aster_ is doing fine," she stated flatly. "She's safe and she's well, and she's being cared for."

"Good." His voice was faintly mocking. "You know, one day, she's going to ask who her father is."

"I'll tell her that you're dead. And hopefully, by that time, it'll be true." She turned again and strode toward the front door; I followed suit.

* * *

By the time we got to the pickup, she was shaking; I opened the door for her, and she got in without question. I was hurrying to get into my side; not because I was worried about them coming out, but because I wasn't sure that Kayden wouldn't decide to go back in, all guns blazing. Or that I was absolutely sure that I'd try to stop her.

We drove away, down the street; Kayden had her hands clenched in her lap, and she was shaking all over. A couple of blocks away, I pulled over and stopped. "You okay?"

"Yes. No." Her head was bowed, and she was beginning to glow. "Christ, I don't know. _Fuck!"_

The expletive was accompanied by a brilliant flash of light that blinded me for a few seconds; when I could see again, she was back to normal, but bent over with her forehead resting on the dashboard.

"You okay _now?"_ I asked gently.

Sitting up, she turned to me, her eyes wet with tears. "That man makes me _so angry._ He's so _certain_ he's right, all the time. And he knows _just_ what to say to hurt me."

"Hey. Hey hey hey." I put my hand on her shoulder, the best I could go toward a hug in the cramped confines of the vehicle. "The man is a comprehensive dick. And I know dicks." I paused. "Yeah, that came out wrong."

Despite herself, she giggled damply. "Yes, yes it did."

"Kaiser's just trying to screw with your head," I assured her. "That's because he can feel that his previous hold over you is just about gone. And he doesn't like losing control over anything."

"Doesn't help," she mumbled. "He had ten years to work on me. Ten years to learn all my buttons. It took me nearly all of my pregnancy with Aster to work up the nerve to actually break with him."

"Hey, it's a work in progress." I squeezed her shoulder. "You'll get there."

"I hope so." She sniffled. "Great, and I don't have a tissue."

"In the glove box. I have an emergency stash."

She opened the glove box and located the somewhat-bedraggled flat box of tissues that I generally carried in there. Pulling a couple out, she blew her nose noisily. "Thank you."

"Eh, keep 'em," I offered. "I can get more, and that box is nearly out."

"Thank you," she repeated, and tucked the box into her handbag. "I appreciate it."

"And I appreciate you coming in with me."

"Well, I wasn't about to let you walk in there alone," she pointed out.

"Still, it can't have been easy."

"No, it wasn't." She took a deep breath, and got the tissues out again. This time, she dabbed at her eyes before blowing her nose for a second time. "Okay, I think I'm good now."

"Excellent." I gave her my best encouraging smile. "Now, you know what I think you should do?"

"Oh, great," she muttered. _"Another_ man who wants to tell me what to do." But she was smiling.

"Exactly." I beamed at her. "I think you should go back to New York and cuddle Aster. Spend time with the people in your life who really matter. And then, you know, come back to attend the meeting tomorrow night. What do you think? Good plan of action?"

She considered it. "I think it's definitely workable," she conceded. "Especially the 'cuddle Aster' bit."

"Yeah, I though you might like that bit," I agreed.

"You should come down to visit sometime," she urged me suddenly. "I'm sure that Legend and Arthur would love to have you."

"I'd like to," I replied slowly, "but I've got a lot of demands on my time right now. I really don't know when I can get away. Time is kind of at a premium for me."

"No arguments," she told me firmly. "You're coming to visit."

"Yes, ma'am," I agreed meekly. "I'll make time."

"Better." She smiled, more naturally this time. "It'll be nice."

We got out of the pickup; I went around the front of the vehicle to stand next to her on the pavement. "So, see you tomorrow night?"

"See you then." Unexpectedly, she hugged me. Of course, I hugged her back. "And thanks."

"I should be thanking you." Momentarily, she leaned her head on my shoulder. "You've done so much."

"All in the name of saving the world. And you and Aster too, of course." I made my tone light.

Pulling back, she searched my face. "You were serious then, about what you said about saving the world? And a war?"

"Serious as serious can be. I'll be talking about it at the meeting."

"I'll be there." Reaching up, she planted a kiss on my cheek, and then began to glow.

I shielded my eyes just in time; when I uncovered them, there was just a fading trail of light in the sky, heading south. Getting back into the pickup, I started the engine and drove off. I had places to go and people to see.

=/=/=

_The door buzzer went; L33t looked up from his workbench. "That was fast," he called over his shoulder. "Did you forget something?"_

_"Nope." He froze for a moment; the voice was both unfamiliar and amused. "You're right here."_

_Slowly, he turned, pushing up the magnifier goggles. "Who the fuck are you?" Behind him, he began to stealthily scrabble through the detritus on the bench for his shock pistol._

_The man standing before him had a salt-and-pepper beard that was given over mainly to salt. His hair – a lot of grey there as well, and receding over the temples – was very closely cut. Apart from that, the guy was bulky as hell; a little taller than L33t, he outweighed him two or three times over, easily. His beard and eyebrows were just a little patchy, and he wore a dressing on his right forearm._

_"Huh," mused the interloper. "You're skinnier than I pictured you."_

_That threw L33t off for a moment, so much so that when he found his hand closing over the grip of the shock pistol, he didn't realise for a second what it was that he was holding. Then he grabbed it tightly and swung it around, to point directly into the intruder's face._

_"Okay!" he shouted. "Enough bullshit! Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my workshop?"_

_"The name's Security," was the reply. "I don't know if you've heard of me yet, but ..."_

_L33t stared. __**This**__ was the guy who had apparently fucked up Lung and Coil? And, if rumour had it right, Bakuda and Oni Lee as well? All of a sudden, he wasn't sure if he wanted to keep pointing the pistol at the guy's face._

_"So what do you want with me?" he asked, trying for a harsh tone. Even to his own ears, it came out a little whiny. "And how did you get in here? I've got the workshop door set on a rotating password system."_

_"You really ought to invest in biometrics," the man called Security observed. He held out a piece of paper; L33t took it. On it was a series of words and phrases, mated to a series of timestamps. With a shock, he realised that those were __**his**__ passwords, and the times they were due to roll over._

_"But ... but," he sputtered. "Where did you __**get**__ this?"_

_"A scarily competent woman in a business suit gave it to me," replied the intruder, still apparently unconcerned that he had L33t's shock pistol pointed at his face. "As for why I'm here ... well, I know it's a cliche, but I need you to help me save the world."_

_"No. No. This is bullshit." L33t wasn't exactly sure why the words made him so angry. "Now you're just fucking with me."_

_"No, I'm really not."_

_L33t glared. "No-one says that shit to me. This is just some big joke to you, isn't it?"_

"_Hey. L33t. It's not a joke." Security's voice was carefully calm. "I'm not bullshitting you. I actually do need you to -"_

_L33t would never be quite sure if his finger actually twitched on the trigger, or if the shock pistol just decided to go off on its own. Or rather, decided to __**try**__ to go off. There was a sharp __**crack**__, and pieces sprayed everywhere; the backblast knocked him off his chair and on to the ground. To add insult to injury, the intruder was still standing there, not knocked to the ground as intended._

"_Fuck," groaned L33t. "Fuck fuck fuuuuck." He shook his hand vigorously, trying to get feeling back into it._

"_Could've told you that was going to happen." The big man reached down, offering a helping hand. L33t grabbed it with his left hand, and was hoisted to his feet. "You built something too close to that about six months ago."_

"_What - ?"_

_A broad finger tapped the paper. L33t looked at it, then turned it over._

"_His gun will explode," he read. "He built something like it six months ago."_

_He looked from the paper to the big man in growing incomprehension. "What the living goddamn fuck is going on here? How are you doing this shit?"_

"_It would take far too long to explain, and longer again to convince you that I'm not smoking finest Merchant product," explained Security. "Suffice to say that we need your talents to help save the world. If you can refrain from blowing yourself up first, that is."_

"_Not my fault," mumbled L33t. "Fucking power restrictions."_

"_Actually, about that," Security noted. "I've got something for you to think about. Three things."_

"_What?" grumbled L33t, picking up his chair and settling himself on to it. His hand was starting to ache._

"_First. Powers are caused by conflict, and work better when used for conflict."_

_L33t blinked. "I … yeah, that kind of makes sense."_

_A nod. "Second. The things that cause powers are kind of alive and kind of intelligent."_

"_Wait, what the fuck? My powers are __**alive**__? No fucking way."_

_It was as if the man had not heard him. "Third. Your power hates you because you're too careful, too cautious. It is actually trying to kill you."_

_L33t's jaw dropped. The idea was ludicrous, ridiculous. But … so many times, when he was __**sure**__ that he'd calculated the tolerances right, he'd still gotten a failure. Too many times, too many close calls. All too often, he'd muttered that __**something**__ out there must hate him, with the number of bizarre equipment failures he had suffered._

_He'd just never considered that it could be his own __**powers **__that were setting him up to fail._

_But no. It couldn't be. The man was just messing with his head. He had to be._

_It was just too whacked. Too unbelievable._

… _just impossible enough to be true._

"_Hey. Earth to L33t."_

_L33t jerked out of his reverie, looked around. The man called Security wasn't there, anywhere in the workshop. The door was open, and Über's familiar face was peering at him. " … you okay?"_

"_Oh, I, uh, yeah," he blurted. He paused. "Uh, you see anyone leaving just now?"_

_Über frowned. "No," he replied. "Should I have? Was someone else here?" He paused. "What's that?"_

_L33t looked around; there was a white envelope leaning against the test stand. He picked it up, opened the flap. Inside, he found a single 3x5 file card. On it, in a rounded hand, were written four lines;_

_**PRT Building.**_

_**Friday, seven PM.**_

_**You'll learn more then.**_

_**Don't be late.**_

_Über peered at the card. "What the fuck, dude? What's that about?"_

_L33t shook his head. "I have no idea. No idea at all."_

_But he knew, deep down, that he wouldn't be able to stay away._

=/=/=

I studied the last piece of paper that Contessa had left for me with a certain amount of trepidation. _This is going to be a tricky one._ Hopefully, Contessa would be backing me up, but I'd never know unless I screwed up.

Standing up from my couch, I headed into the kitchenette to get a drink of water, the nervous energy making my movements jerky. L33t had been easy to deal with; sure, he'd tried to shoot me, but either Contessa had sabotaged his gun, or his power had. Either way, I'd come out of it unscathed. This next one … this would be the interesting one. I looked at the sheet again.

_Cody has made his way to Madison. He is currently stalking the others._

"Great," I muttered. "Just what I needed." I raised my eyes to the ceiling. "This is you getting back at me for screwing you around, isn't it?"

There was no answer; I hadn't expected one, but then, Contessa was probably elsewhere, doing something important.

For about the tenth time, I re-read the instructions, folded the paper, and stuck it in my pocket. Then I cleared my throat. "Door to Cody."

=/=/=

_And there they were. Krouse and Noelle. Getting off the bus, walking side by side down the street. Heading for the apartment that they'd rented. He'd forgotten how good Noelle looked, walking. Even with legs she'd only had for two weeks – had it been __**that**__ little time? - she was striding along, head up, hair blowing a little in the breeze._

_Cody shifted a little in the alleyway that he was leaning against, bringing a brown paper bag up to his face, pretending to drink from the empty bottle within. It had not been hard to figure out where the rest of the Travellers had gotten to; after he got from Brockton Bay – even on Earth Aleph, it was still a shithole – to Madison, it had not taken him too much time to track them down._

_Krouse and Noelle had their little love nest; Marissa and Oliver were also sharing an apartment, though as far as Cody knew, that was just as roomies. Jess had been reunited with her parents, and Luke had apparently hung out his shingle as "Ballistic – cape for hire"._

_**Everyone's forgotten me. Which is just the way I like it.**_

_He wasn't quite sure __**what**__ kind of revenge he was going to pull on them, but it was gonna be pretty spectacular, given that they'd turned him over to that white-haired fuck, who __**sold**__ him on to the fucking Chinese. And all for trying to fix their problem._

_It shouldn't be too hard to acquire a handgun -_

"_Cody."_

_The voice came from __**behind**__ him, which was patently impossible; the alley was ten yards deep, ending in a brick wall. But it was also just a bit familiar. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that he'd heard it before. Not that he was taking the time to think._

_Spinning around, he saw the guy stepping through the portal. Taking half a second to change his grip on the bottle, he swung it overhand, toward the guy's head. Halfway through the swing, he thought he recognised the guy, but he kept swinging anyway._

_It didn't really matter; demonstrating some pretty effective reflexes, the guy brought up a hand and caught his wrist._

_**Crap. Lucky catch. It has to be.**_

_The guy kept moving, twisting his wrist, turning him around. He fought to keep hold of the bottle, felt himself losing his grip on it -_

_Rewinding the guy just a few seconds, he turned around and stepped back, still holding the bottle. The doorway was there in mid-air; he could see an apartment beyond, anomalous against the squalor of the trash-filled alley. The guy was just stepping through. Cody threw the bottle._

_The guy caught it on the fly._

_**No-one's **_**that **_**fucking lucky.**_

_He rewound the guy's personal timeline again; the bottle dropped to the ground from where the guy no longer held it. This time, he pulled the knife that was sheathed at the back of his belt, under his jacket. This Madison, in this universe, was a lot more gentle than Brockton Bay in Earth Bet, but old habits died extremely hard._

_Even as the guy stepped through, he lunged forward. The guy saw the knife and acted, all in the same instant. He moved forward faster than anyone that big had a right to move, slapped aside Cody's stab, and twisted his wrist; the pain went straight up Cody's arm._

_He rewound the guy __**again **__before he could drop the knife; this time, as the guy stepped through, he brought his hand to his side, the knife held up against his wrist, out of view. "Cody," stated the guy. "Remember me?"_

"_Yeah, I remember you," Cody told him warily. "You're the bastard who sent me to Brockton Bay, while everyone else got to go home to Madison."_

"_I'm also the bastard who pulled you out of a dormitory in China," the guy reminded him. "Or would you rather be back there now?"_

"_Fuck that." Cody's face twisted. "What do you want with me now?"_

"_Offer you a job."_

_Cody paused, blinking. "A what now?"_

"_A job. You know doing things for money."_

"_You want me to work for __**you**__?"_

"_Not me." The big guy shook his head. "Some other people. I'm just here to make the offer. You get free room and board, free travel, and a thousand a day, in the hand."_

"_You're shitting me."_

"_No. I'm really not. This is a one-time offer, Cody. We need you, but you're not absolutely essential. You've got one hour to decide." He ostentatiously checked a bulky watch on his wrist._

"_And if I say no?"_

_A massive shrug. "I walk away. You never see me again. You never get this offer again. And when the world ends, you get the satisfaction of knowing that you weren't out there fighting, so it's not your fault that we lost."_

"_Wait, what, when the world ends?"_

"_Well, I'm not here looking to hire you because of your __**looks**__. Six to twelve months, the world is ending. You agree to take this job, you get to be there and help out and maybe avert it."_

"_Can I think about it?"_

"_Like I said, one hour. Then the train leaves the station."_

" … _I still want to think about it."_

"_Fine." Another shrug. "I'll find you in one hour."_

"_I … right." __**I'm gonna have to hurry things up. Get to Krouse's place ...**_

_The big guy took a few steps away. "Door to Trickster's apartment." Beyond him, the portal opened, showing another apartment._

_**Trickster? The fuck?**_

"_Hey, wait!"_

_The big guy looked over his shoulder. "What?"_

"_You're getting Trickster in on this?"_

"_Well, __**yeah**__. Did you think you were the only member of the Travellers that I was interested in recruiting?" He took a step away from the portal, toward Cody. "Maybe I should have mentioned that they get a recruitment deal as well. That I'll be taking them away from Earth Aleph. You'll never get to catch up to them."_

_His revenge was slipping through his grasp. "No. No. You can't do this."_

"_Sure I can." The guy shrugged again. "It's easy."_

"_Wait. I'll – I'll join."_

"_And you'll drop any and all chance of revenge?"_

_His mouth opened, then closed again. "I – yes."_

_He was slammed against the wall, one large hand on his chest, the other catching his knife hand as he tried to bring it up, to stab or slash. Strong fingers squeezed his wrist till the bones ground together; the pain was excruciating._

"_I think you're lying."_

_He rewound the guy, three seconds._

"_\- revenge?"_

"_Yes." He was stepping forward from the wall, bringing the knife up as he spoke; the pain from the previous grip made him clumsy, but it probably wouldn't have mattered. His hand was caught and __**then**__ he was slammed back into the wall. The pain had barely started before the knife dropped from numbed fingers. "I think you're just looking to get close -"_

_He rewound the guy again. His knife was on the ground. He was leaning against the wall._

"_\- revenge?"_

_He took a deep breath. "I don't know," he admitted honestly. "It's all I've lived for, these last two weeks. Longer."_

_The guy sighed. "You do realise, it's the Simurgh who's pulling your strings on this one? That she set it up so you've got this hate-on for Trickster and Noelle?"_

_Cody shrugged. "I guessed as much. But they still screwed me over. They __**owe**__ me."_

"_Dude. You messed up the meeting with Accord and nearly got Marissa killed. They had very little choice in what they did."_

_His voice rose. "We could've left town! We could've told Accord to go fuck himself! Instead, they __**handed**__ me __**over**__ to him! For all they knew, he was gonna kill me!"_

"_Hey, I'm not saying it was the right thing to do," the guy told him. "But it wasn't like they could trust you not to do it again, either. You got bystanders __**killed**__ that day."_

"_I was trying to solve the problem. You got a problem with that?"_

"_I do if you keep trying and you keep failing, and keep getting people killed." The guy raised an eyebrow. "Okay, Trickster and Noelle aside, there's still a huge problem coming down the pike. I want to know if you're in or out."_

_He thought about it. "Can I at least go back to Earth Bet and kick the guts out of that white-haired fuck Accord?"_

"_Ooh, sorry." A grimace. "He's in on this, too."_

"_Fuck that! No fucking way! That motherfucker __**sold**__ me to the fucking Chinese!"_

"_Cody. __**Listen**__ to me. Do you want Accord dead, or suffering?"_

"_What?" Cody looked at the guy. "What do you mean?"_

"_Just what I said. I can't let you kill him. But I can pretty well guarantee his suffering."_

"_How do you mean?"_

_The guy grinned, just slightly. "Did you ever meet Tattletale?"_

"_Uh, no."_

"_Hm." A wry expression. "She's a stereotypical smartarse. Her power is super-intuition. She's absolutely got to be the smartest person in the room, and she needles anyone who she thinks might think otherwise. She's really, really good at it."_

"_And what's this got to do with … oh."_

"_'Oh' is right." The grin was back. "Accord has to work with her. And you __**know**__ what he's like."_

_Cody blinked. "Ah. Right."_

"_Trust me, he will suffer. But he'll have a vested interest in not killing her, so he'll have to just bear it."_

"_Just like I've got to do with Trickster and Noelle and him."_

"_Yeah, but you don't have to be in the same room with the people you hate. He __**does**__."_

"_Huh." A grimace. "I don't like it, but … I guess."_

"_Okay. Just be aware that you will be noted as a security risk to both of them. You won't be left unattended with either one."_

_A plan started forming at the back of his mind. "Can I still have that hour to think about it?"_

"_Sure. I'll catch up with you then."_

"_Uh, I could just come with, let you know when I come to a decision."_

"_When I'm just about to go and talk with Trickster and Noelle." The sarcasm was obvious._

"_Uh, yes?" __**Yeah, that wasn't at all suspicious.**_

"_I know your history with those two." A chuckle. "I'm not stupid enough to __**trust**__ you near them yet."_

"_Oh." __**Dammit.**_

"_So, are you actually in, or not?"_

"_I, uh … I want to think about this for a bit longer."_

"_I'm not going to open a door to them any time you're near," the guy warned him. "So piss off, and I'll come find you in an hour."_

_**Oh well, it was worth a try.**_

"_Yeah, an hour should do," he muttered. "I'll let you know then."_

"_I'll catch you then." The guy waved. "Bye."_

_The dismissal was obvious; he turned and trudged from the alleyway. As soon as the guy was gone, he'd double back and grab the knife._

_**Fuck. What do I do now?**_

=/=/=

I knocked on the door of the apartment jointly rented by Noelle Meinhardt and Francis Krouse. Personally, I would have preferred to have been waiting for them when they got back, but my discussion with Cody had wasted time. Plus, I'd had to clean my boots.

After a few moments, the door opened, and I came face to face with Noelle. A little shorter than me, she had strong features and straight brown hair. She stared at me, obviously not recognising my face.

"Uh, can I help you?" she asked.

"Who is it, hon?" I heard from behind her.

"You might not remember me," I told her. "Mike Allen? Security? I helped get you here."

She remembered now, I could tell; her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "Holy shit. Come in, come in."

I took her up on the invitation, just as Trickster entered the room from what was probably the kitchen. He was out of costume, of course; his swarthy features seemed to be more filled out, the hook nose less prominent. Civilian life seemed to agree with him.

"Wait, I know you," he declared. "You were that guy with the PRT. The one who -"

"- who helped me, yes," Noelle filled in. "What are you doing here? How did you even _get_ here?" A moment later, she slapped herself on the forehead. "Duh. The same way you got us here."

"Exactly correct," I agreed. "So, how's life been since you got back?"

"A little fraught, at first," Krouse told me. "They wanted to know where we'd been for the last year and a half."

"So we wove them a tale of daring escapes from the authorities and keeping our heads down, until we could find a way back," supplied Noelle. "Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee?"

"Beer?" added Krouse.

"Uh, cold water, if you've got it," I demurred. "Not much of a beverage drinker."

"Pretty sure we've got that," Noelle assured me. "I'll be back in a second."

Krouse stepped up and shook my hand. "It's good to see you. What are you here for? Checking up to see how we're doing? Have a seat?" He gestured to the sofa.

"Kind of," I agreed, sitting down. "Ah, thanks," I added, as Noelle emerged from the kitchen with a glass of water.

"What do you mean, 'kind of'?" asked Krouse. "How have things been going since we left?"

I drank down about half the cup. "Ahh, that's nice. Well, the place has been settling down a bit. After Coil went down, and Kaiser outed me to the villain population, Bakuda took a run at me." Reflexively, I scratched the scar on the side of my neck.

Krouse fetched cookies, and they sat down, asking more questions. I filled them in on most of what had happened, glossing over the heart attack and my subsequent upgrade at Riley's hands.

"Sounds like you've been having your adventures, too," Noelle observed, when I had brought them more or less up to date. "But you never told us why you're here."

"Is this about that job offer you said we might get?" asked Krouse. "Because it hasn't come yet."

"Well, it _was _originally going to be a couple of years down the track," I admitted. "When the deadline got a little closer."

"Deadline for what?" asked Noelle, alert now.

"So what's changed?" Krouse queried, at almost exactly the same time.

"One at a time," I replied. "Ladies first; the deadline has to do with a battle breaking out that has the potential to end the world. It was originally fourteen to sixteen years in the future. Now, it's six to twelve months away."

"The world?" That was Krouse. "You mean Earth Bet?"

"To start with, yeah," I agreed. "But it doesn't stop there. Not by a long shot."

Noelle's hand sought out Krouse's. "So why the sudden change?"

I grimaced. "I think I might have had something to do with it. See, I knew it was coming all along. I've been setting in motion plans that were ultimately intended to have us ready for it, when the time came."

"And something went wrong." That was Krouse.

"Yeah." My voice was sour. "Here I am, doing my best to save the damn world, and something I do, or set in motion, sets off the apocalypse early. Fuckin' _joy."_

"But how do you know it'll happen earlier?" asked Noelle. "Are you a precog or something?"

"Nope." I took a drink from the latest glass of water. "But I've got one on speed-dial."

"So what can we do?" Krouse looked concerned. "I'm not much good against world-ending menaces."

"And I don't even have powers any more," added Noelle. "Not that my powers would have been any help at all, under the circumstances."

"I dunno," mused Krouse. "If you'd managed to clone someone like Jack Slash, he might've turned out all sweetness and light."

I shivered. "I doubt that. If she'd encountered Crawler, that would have been an extinction event for the city, so I can't see a clone of Jack Slash being any better."

Noelle peered at me. "How do you know that?"

"I just do," I told her. "But both of you _can_ help, if you so wish."

"Uh, I get it that Francis is still powered," Noelle replied, "but what can _I_ do?"

"Hell, I can't see that I'd be any more useful," Krouse agreed. "High-powered I'm not."

I pointed at Noelle. "Strategy and tactics. We'll be teaming you with Tattletale, Accord and Dragon. They'll be making it up as they go along, or using powers to fill in for intellect. I want someone at the table who's actually good at it _without_ powers."

"Okay, I can see that," Krouse noted. "But what about me? Swapping full coffee cups for empty ones?"

"Hardly," I told him. "Battlefield support. If a big hitter can't disengage, it'll be up to you to help out."

"Huh." He tilted his head to one side. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Good." I leaned back. "Would you be able to do me a favour, and get hold of Jess and Luke for me? I need to talk to them as well."

=/=/=

"_Jess, phone for you."_

"_Oh, uh, thanks, Mom." Jess wheeled herself away from the TV, over to where her mother was holding the phone. Cradling the receiver between shoulder and ear, she steered herself a little farther away, for privacy._

"_Hello?"_

"_**Hi, Jess. How you doing?"**_

"_Francis! I'm doing fine. How are you and Noelle?"_

"_**Yeah, listen, I got someone here who wants to talk to you."**_

"_Okay, who?"_

"_**Remember the guy who got us back? The big guy?"**_

_Reflexively, she nodded. "Yeah, I remember him. What about him?"_

"_**Well, he's here right now, and he wants to ask you something."**_

_She frowned. "Uh, okay. Put him on."_

_There was the sound of the phone being passed over, and a different voice came on. __**"Hey, Jess."**_

"_Uh, hi. What was your name again?"_

"_**You can call me Mike. Got a question for you."**_

"_Francis said that. What do you want to know?"_

"_**You willing to come back as a cape, one last time?"**_

_She went very still. "You're going to have to explain that."_

"_**There's something going down, in the next six months to a year, that'll mess up Earth Bet, and put a fair hurt on Aleph and all the other earths out there. I'm working on averting it. Recruiting everyone I know who I think can help. You interested?"**_

_She closed her eyes. "Mike, I … I never wanted to be there. I just wanted to come back. I haven't even used my powers since I got back."_

_His tone was sympathetic. __**"I understand. You don't have to do it. I was just checking."**_

"_Who else are you asking?"_

_A chuckle. __**"Just about everyone. Luke's on his way over, so I can talk to him personally."**_

"_I'm really not sure if I can face this. Not again."_

"_**That's fine. You don't want to do it, I'm not going to force it down your throat. I will say that there's money involved. Just so you know."**_

_She shook her head. "No. I don't want to know how much. Tell the others I'm sorry, but I just … can't."_

"_**It's all good. I know how much crap you guys went through while you were here. If I was in your place, I'd have trouble saying yes, too."**__ His voice was warm and accepting.__** "I'll just give you back to the others."**_

_The phone was passed over again; this time, she found herself talking to Noelle. __**"Hi!"**_

"_Hi, No. So you're saying yes?"_

"_**Not sure, but I think yeah, I am."**_

"_But you don't even have powers. What are you going to do?"_

"_**Well, apparently they've found out how good at game strategy I am, so they're putting me in there."**_

"_Oh. Well, I hope you do all right."_

"_**Thanks. I wish you could be with us."**_

"_I just can't go back. Not for anything."_

"_**Okay then. Say hi to your mom for me."**_

"_Thanks. Will do."_

_Jess pressed the End Call button, and wheeled back to place the cordless phone on the cradle. She tried once more to lose herself in the TV show, but her thoughts kept intruding._

_**I hope I've done the right thing …**_

=/=/=

We heard the high-powered sports car coming before it ever screeched to a halt. I peered out the window; it was bright red, and looked like a jet fighter mated with a speedboat. All raked lines and spoilers, spinning rims and god knew what else. If it didn't feature every accessory known to mankind, plus a few more, I would have been deeply astonished.

Luke bounded out of it, looking bright and energetic; he disappeared into the building below, and an absurdly short time later, we heard the knocking on the door. On general principles, I made it to the door first; if this was Cody trying for revenge anyway, he would get a nasty surprise.

"Oh, hey," Luke greeted me as I opened the door. "My man. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay," I told him. "But you seem to be living large. I take it the hero for hire gig pays nicely?"

"Fuck me, yes," he chuckled. "I'm one of very few capes in the world, and there's no Alexandrias or Eidolons among the others, let me tell you. I can write my own checks. And there's more than a few zeroes involved."

"Well, I'm glad you're getting along," I told him. "You're certainly looking well."

"Benefits of having a personal trainer, a swimming coach, and a dietician on twenty-four hour callout," he pointed out. "Never felt better in my life."

Krouse leaned across to me and added in a stage whisper, "The fact that these are all hot women don't hurt either." Noelle slugged him on the arm. "Ow!" he protested. "Well, it's true!"

"Yes, well, you don't have to make a song and dance about it." She folded her arms, looking miffed.

I wasn't quite sure how to deal with the incipient argument, but Luke rescued me. "So, dude, you got something you want to talk to me about?" He put his arm around my shoulders and steered me away from the couple.

"Yeah." Quickly, I outlined the situation; an escalating problem, likely to break in six months or so, needing big hitters. "And you're a pretty big hitter, as hitters go."

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin, where he'd grown a neatly trimmed soul patch. "Sure, I can help out."

"Excellent."

I went to go on, but he cut me off. "Just make an appointment with my agent, and I'll be right at your service."

I paused. "Your … agent?"

He nodded. "She's really good at scheduling my time."

Recalling Krouse's words, I nodded in reply. _I'll just __**bet**__ she is._

"Well, can you make it to a meeting tomorrow night at least?" I tried to stress how important it was. "I'm going to be explaining exactly how dire the threat is."

He frowned. "I can try. What time?"

"Seven."

"That might interfere with my tennis lesson."

I wondered if his tennis coach was also a hot woman, and then I wondered if the 'lesson' even took place on a tennis court. Then I wondered if I was being unfair to him. "Look, this is serious. End of the world serious."

"Okay, okay." He grimaced. "I'll explain it to her. I can be there." '_Her', huh?_

"Great," I told him. "Try to be alone at six fifty. I'll pick you up then."

He nodded. "Sure thing."

"Good." _Well, that's three out of five so far …_

=/=/=

"_So, what's the good word?"_

_Cody turned at the first syllable. As soon as he saw where the portal was, he reacted._

_He had used the hour wisely, getting in touch with someone who could provide him with what he wanted. And then he had used his power to get the item he wanted without actually paying for it._

_And so, as the guy stepped through the portal, he pulled out the Saturday Night Special that he had managed to acquire. Holding it double-handed, he aimed it directly at the guy._

_Just as the guy started to react, Cody rewound him, putting him back to the point where he started stepping through the portal. "So -" he began, before Cody opened fire, pulling the trigger as fast as he could._

_The recoil, as modest as it was, spoiled his aim after the first shot, but he kept firing anyway. The report deafened him, and the muzzle-flare left after-images in front of his eyes, but he was pretty sure that he'd scored with at least two of the shots._

_**Fuck you, and fuck the end of the world.**_

* * *

End of Part Forty-Six


	47. Chapter 47

**Security!**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Seven: Unwelcome Revelations

* * *

**Friday, April 29, 2011**

* * *

Emily

* * *

"Director?"

Piggot turned her head slightly; Deputy Director Renick was leaning toward her just a little, his voice barely audible.

"Yes, Paul?" she replied, her own voice equally quiet; instinctively, she checked to make sure that the microphones were off. It probably wouldn't have mattered; Alexandria's voice, rolling from the speakers, held everyone's attention. Emily had tuned the speech out; it was heavy on phrases such as 'capes standing shoulder to shoulder' and 'historic gathering', while being light on actual content.

"Is it just me or do you feel kind of outnumbered as well?"

"I've been the PRT Director in this city for ten years, Paul," she reminded him. "There hasn't been a week when I _haven't _felt outnumbered at one point or another."

"Oh. Yeah."

But he had a point. She looked around the room in which she and Renick were seated. It was the largest auditorium in the PRT building – it had been an absolute _pain_ to get it security-sealed to her liking – and within it, facing her and the stage, was the largest assemblage of capes that she had ever personally attended. She had _seen_ larger, of course – Endbringer battles routinely brought together hundreds of capes – but this was the biggest gathering of parahuman talent that she had ever been a part of. Worse, these weren't all heroes. Some, she suspected, weren't even from Earth Bet.

However, there were some familiar faces in the crowd; the local Protectorate and Wards teams were represented, as well as Brockton Bay's homegrown hero team. They seemed to be busily conversing among themselves; she wondered what they were talking about.

=/=

Paige

"Hey, Canary, right?"

Paige looked around at the masked man; he was offering his hand to shake. She took it. "Actually, my callsign's Tweety Bird, so I don't know if that's my cape name now or what. You're Assault, yes?"

"That's me," he declared. "Gotta say, you've made a bit of a name for yourself among those in the know. Calming down the crowds during the gang war, helping save Mayor Christner's wife and kids. That's pretty badass."

"Not as badass as the people who actually went in there and did the job," she replied, although she smiled at the compliment. "I'm just glad you're giving me the chance to prove that I'm not a villain."

"Well hey, if anyone's gonna champion the right of someone to prove they can do the right thing, it'd be me, right honey?" he asked, half-turning his head to address the woman sitting on the other side of him; Paige recognised her as Battery, mainly from the circuit-board patterns on her costume.

"If by 'champion the right' you mean 'never shut up about it', yes, you have it about right, sweetie," Battery replied, though her tone was more amused than cutting. "It's nice to meet you, Canary, or Tweety Bird, whichever you prefer."

"Call me Paige. I was pretty well outed by the trial anyway." She offered her hand to Battery, who shook it.

"Yeah, that would have sucked." The young man in the lion-faced helmet beyond Battery leaned forward. "I heard about what you did for, uh, Mrs Christner and the others. You did good. You did really good."

"Uh, thanks." She looked down the row of seats. "Um, just out of curiosity, you appear to be missing a member. I recognise Armsmaster and Miss Militia and Velocity, but … "

"Dauntless volunteered for monitor duty," Assault informed her. "Rules say that someone's gotta be. So he'll get briefed-in later."

"Oh," she responded. "Okay, that's kind of a relief. I was worried that I'd stolen someone's seat."

"No, you're fine," Battery assured her. "If you're on the guest list, you're supposed to be here."

"Oh, good." Paige sighed and leaned back in her seat. "For a moment there," she confided to Joe, "I was a little concerned."

"Trust me, Paige," he replied, "you're not the only person feeling a little out of place here tonight."

* * *

Lily

* * *

"So, uh, Flechette, have you ever been to Brockton Bay before?"

"Not as such, no." Lily checked to make sure that her arbalest wasn't about to fall over on to the floor, then paid more attention to Clockblocker. "To be honest, I'm not even sure why I _am_ here."

"You're experienced, and you've got a ranged attack ability with a fair degree of flexibility, is my guess," Aegis told her; he was sitting beside Canary's PRT guard, with Clockblocker and Kid Win beside him and Lily. "Shadow Stalker was a good Breaker/Stranger/Mover mix, but she had other problems -"

"- such as being totally batshit psycho," Clockblocker added. "Even Gallant would agree, if he wasn't watching the console, and he's the _nice_ one in the team."

Aegis frowned, but didn't correct the irreverent cape. "As I was saying, we lost Shadow Stalker but since then we've gained an influx of really new capes, so the more experienced boots on the ground to give them pointers, the better."

"Especially Kid Win and Clockblocker," Vista agreed cheerfully from beside Lily. "I've been a cape longer than the both of them."

This struck Lily as being more than a little incongruous, given that the boys looked to be two or three years older than the green-and-teal-clad girl. They both spoke out in protest; she grinned impishly back at them. "Well, it's _true."_

Before Lily could comment on the matter, Browbeat spoke up, from the other side of Vista. "I could probably do with some pointers too. But I think Aegis was mainly talking about Weaver and Golem."

"What _about_ Weaver and Golem?" asked Weaver from farther down the row of seats again.

"Aegis was just saying I've been brought in to help get you guys up to speed," Flechette told the girl in the bug-themed costume. "Though you're the one who took down Lung, right? I probably haven't got much to teach you."

Weaver shrugged. "Hey, I'm always willing to learn something new."

* * *

Amy

* * *

"Ames! When did you get here?"

Amy looked around from where Taylor was talking to Flechette; Vicky was hovering cross-legged over the seats. "Uh, a little while ago," she replied. "Are you alone, or are Mark and Carol here too?"

Vicky frowned slightly. _"Mom _and _Dad_ are here, yeah. The whole team is. Did you want to come sit with?"

"They're _your _mom and dad, Vicky," Amy replied without heat. "I'm grateful to them for taking me in, but you're the only one who really treated me as family, okay? So if it's all right with you, I'll be hanging with Weaver for the time being."

"They want to know when you're coming back to the team," Vicky protested. "You're a _part_ of New Wave. You just can't walk away."

"Actually, yeah, I can," Amy replied, still not at all fazed by Vicky's manner. "You guys don't own me. I don't owe you anything, not really. I'm sixteen, so I actually can leave home if I want. And I'm beginning to think that's exactly what I want."

"But where will you _go?"_

Amy shrugged. "I don't have to go anywhere. I'm staying with my awesome bestie. She and her dad give me more family time and acceptance than I've ever gotten before. The PRT's talking about giving me a living allowance to stay there full-time. I mean, I'll come and visit, but I'd be an idiot to say no."

"So you're not coming home ... ?"

"Vicky. I _am_ home. Where I am, there's no _pressure_ on me. We connect as people, as a family, not just as superheroes. Her dad took us to the _movies_ the other day. He told _dad jokes._ When was the last time Mark did any of that?"

* * *

Victoria

* * *

"Ouch," observed the blonde girl beside Amy. _"Burn."_

"Excuse me?" asked Vicky, staring at the girl, who she figured to be about eleven or twelve. "Who are you again?" _She looks kind of familiar, but I just can't place her._ "And what are you even doing in here?"

"Here for the conference, G-girl," the middle-schooler replied cheerfully. "Why, are you lost or something?"

"Hey now, Riley," the teenage boy on the other side of the blonde cut in. He was on the chunky side, wearing a costume in browns and greys, with odd plates of metal and other materials attached to his belt and forearms. A blocky visored helmet covered most of his head, but left his mouth free. "Be nice. You did say that you'd behave."

"Yeah, okay, sorry," the girl replied. Her sharp eyes never wavered from Vicky's. Offering her hand, she went on. "Hi, I'm Riley. Recovering supervillain. Mike says I'm coming along fine."

"Recovering supervi- holy shit, you're _Bonesaw!"_ Vicky recoiled from the proffered hand, as if it were a poisonous snake. "What the hell are you doing here? What the hell are you doing _alive?"_

"Ask Mike," Riley replied. "He's the only reason I'm here and alive. And don't worry, I've been rendered harmless. Big sis Amy checked me out before they let me out of the cell this time."

Amy shook her head. "Seriously, Riley. I am not your big sister."

"But you totally could be," insisted Riley. "We both fix people." Her gaze dropped. "I'm gonna have to do a _lot_ of fixing people before I ever make up for the other stuff I've done."

Amy nodded. "You're right. But you know something? I've got faith in you to get there. Just like Mike's got faith in you."

Vicky shook her head. "Ames, no. Seriously. She's a _supervillain._ She's _killed_ people. _Lots_ of people."

The woman on the other side of Golem, a petite brunette wearing a costume unfamiliar to Vicky, cleared her throat. "Uh, that's not a unique situation around here right now, Glory Girl. Sometimes it's just a matter of making the wrong choice at the wrong moment. Getting that second chance, coming back from where you've been, that's the tough one."

"Uh, I'm sorry. " Vicky frowned. "I don't think I know you."

The woman extended her hand. "Evenstar. I'm based in New York, with Legend's team."

"Huh, okay." Vicky shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you. But you were saying about second chances?"

Evenstar smiled, a little sadly. "Let's just say that becoming a supervillain isn't necessarily a matter of choice, but of chance. And getting a _second_ chance can be the miracle of a lifetime."

"Amen, sister," Tattletale put in from beside Evenstar. "You never said a truer word. Though you do know there's some villains up there behind us trying to get your attention, right?"

"Yes, I know," Evenstar replied. "I'm ignoring them."

* * *

Max

* * *

"But she knows we're here. Why isn't she looking our way?"

Kaiser sighed. "Rune, please stop waving at her," he advised. "Kayden has made it absolutely clear that she wants no part of the Empire Eighty-Eight. She was even willing to step in to defend Security. She can ignore us all night if she wishes."

"I can't believe that she's actually pretending to be a hero now." That was Crusader. "They say she's working with that fa- with Legend, in New York."

"Keep your voice down," Kaiser warned him. "Whatever his orientation, he _can_ kick your ass without moving from his seat. We very seriously do not want to upset him, or Alexandria, or Eidolon."

"Me, I'm surprised you're not more pissed that your kid's in the Wards," Hookwolf commented from where he was sitting on the other side of Crusader. "And he's taken that Jew name. That's a slap in the face, right there."

Kaiser smiled faintly. "I'm a little disappointed, yes. But on the other hand, he triggered to defend my daughter. And he was holding off the Boston PRT and Protectorate both before Legend and Kayden got there. He's tougher than either one of us thought he could be. In time, if he's a true Anders, he'll realise where his path lies."

"And maybe he won't," Victor suggested. "Maybe he'll decide that he actually wants to be a hero. What then?"

"Well, only an idiot would draft an unwilling cape as leader for an organisation as strong as the Empire Eighty-Eight," Kaiser pointed out. "But I have faith in my powers of persuasion. After all, I raised the boy. I know how he thinks."

"What if his time in the Wards changes the way he thinks?" asked Stormtiger. "It could be that he might decide to take you on."

"It will never come to that," Kaiser stated confidently. "The boy's never been able to challenge my authority. Being in the Wards isn't going to change that."

=/=

Emily

One of the capes Emily suspected to be from offworld, a woman in the front row dressed in elaborate blue robes, spoke to a man sitting beside her. With Alexandria still speaking, Emily couldn't quite hear the words, but she got the distinct impression that the language was not English; the woman was not somebody she recognised from her files. The man, in turn, placed a strangely-contoured device to his mouth and pressed a button on his desk. This caused a light to glow on the board before the Director; after pressing the button, he also raised his hand so as to be doubly sure of getting her attention. Noticing the byplay, Alexandria wrapped up her speech; Piggot clicked on the light, activating the man's desk mic.

_"Excusing myself," _the device stated in mechanical tones, _"but whenever was this conference to commence? It is the time, and past, and Her Excellency has business of urgent moment to attend."_

The words boomed through the room, and heads began to nod. It was barely three minutes past seven, but the vast majority of those assembled in this room were unused to having to await another's pleasure.

Emily opened her mouth, but Alexandria spoke first; along with her colleagues, the Triumvirate hero was also seated up on stage, farther along the same long desk. _"We beg your indulgence for just a few more moments,"_ she stated smoothly. _"It will be worth the wait."_ Unseen by those sitting in the auditorium, her hand moved over the keyboard before her; Emily read the message on her own screen.

_Where is he?_

Casually, Emily let her hand fall on her own keyboard. With minimal movements, she typed a return message. _Don't know. Said he would be here._

Another back-and-forth in that alien language, between the woman in blue and her ... retainer? The man spoke once more. _"Her Excellency will await longer just two of the minutes. Then depart."_

Emily activated her own mic. "We will begin before then."

_God, I hope so,_ she prayed. There would be no way in hell that this sort of conference could be attempted again, if the first one fell through. _Where the hell is he?_

As well as the locals, villains and heroes from other cities had attended; there were also those from other nations. Narwhal sat alongside a humanoid Dragon suit, along with several other Guild members. From farther afield was a dishevelled-looking man in opulent robes gesticulating as he spoke to his companions. These ones sent glares toward another section of capes, who apparently returned the animosity. Only the utmost gravity of the situation, she was fairly sure, was keeping the peace at this moment.

The woman in blue was not the only outworlder, she was sure; looking over the crowd, she picked out others whom she had never seen before, some with rather outlandish costumes, and some who eschewed costumes for what might be ordinary clothes where they came from.

The time had nearly reached five past seven; restlessness was starting to spread. Some conversations were beginning to become arguments. _Maybe I'd better start talking, tell them what I know -_

A tone sounded from her board, and she switched her mic over; it was the detail on the door to the auditorium. "Yes?"

"_We have someone claiming to be Security, ma'am. He has four people with him. Two are dressed like capes."_

Hitting keys rapidly, she pulled a view from the security camera. "That's him, all right. Let them in."

"_Ma'am."_

=/=

Mike

I had Cody over my shoulder; he was coming around from the painkillers with which he'd been dosed, but I could tell he was still fairly loopy.

"Did you have to break his arms in so many places?" asked Noelle as we hustled down the corridor. "Once should've been enough, surely."

"With Cody?" asked Ballistic. "Probably not. He never _could_ take a hint."

"Hey, being shot _hurts,_ all right? Subdermal armour or no subdermal armour." I added, gingerly touching the dressing above my right eye. "Especially in the forehead. Yeah, I might have gone overboard a little bit, but it would have been better than breaking his neck; his power can save a lot of lives, used right."

"Yeah, but that meant you had to get his arms set and secured," Trickster huffed from the other side. "Now we're _late."_

"Only by a few minutes," I told them. "That's the door there."

My instruction was unnecessary; the door had no less than four PRT guards on it. They turned to face us as we approached.

"Stop where you are," one of them ordered, taking a few steps toward us. "Identify yourselves."

"I'm Security," I told him. "I'm the keynote speaker in there, and if you don't let us in, right the fuck now, there's gonna _be_ no conference."

"Who's that?" he asked, pointing at Cody. "Is he injured?"

"Hell yes, he's injured," I snapped. "I had to break his arms after he shot me. He's coming in with me, and so are the others. Now, you've got three choices. You let us walk in, we walk in over the top of you, or we go around you."

The guard held up a finger, and began a muffled conversation inside his helmet. Then he nodded to me, and stepped back. "Okay, you can go on in."

They opened the doors, and we walked in; just a few paces inside, I stopped short. Trickster, Noelle and Ballistic moved past me as I tried not to gape at how many capes there were in the auditorium. It was a big room. Really big. But it seemed filled to capacity, and nearly all of them were capes. Some even _wore_ capes.

"_Ladies and gentlemen."_ It was Emily Piggot on the PA system. _"Allow me to introduce Michael Allen, better known as Security. He will be addressing you tonight on the urgent matter facing us."_

"Yay," I muttered, unloading Cody from my shoulder, and plonking him into an empty chair in the front row. I nodded to the strange capes observing me as I did so, fully aware that the other Travellers had split up to find seats. Cody seemed to be tracking a little better now; I snapped my fingers before his face, and his eyes focused.

"Okay, listen up," I murmured for his ears alone. "Play any bullshit tricks like that again, and you'll _wish_ I only broke your arms." Turning, I headed up on to the stage, behind the long desk. There were six seats behind that desk, which I now saw had a microphone and an electronic console for each seat.

The rightmost three seats were occupied by Alexandria, Legend and Eidolon; two more were being used by Director Piggot and Deputy Director Renick. One chair was left; by a process of elimination, that chair was mine. Where I would sit and address a bunch of capes about a threat that they had never even considered before. _No pressure, now._

* * *

Emily

* * *

With a sigh, he sat down, the seat compressing beneath his weight. This close, she saw that he had a bruise on his cheek, and a dressing above one eye to complement the one on his arm. His clothing was rumpled, and there was a small bloodstain low on the right side of his chest.

Turning her mic off, she leaned over to him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, should be," he muttered. "Dickhead there decided to get free and easy with a firearm. After I explained my displeasure, I had to find someplace to get his arms seen to."

"I see. Well, you're five minutes late. I think they're waiting for you to say something."

"And me without my prepared speech." He searched the area before him. "How do I turn on the microphone?"

"Button there, marked 'MIC'," she explained. "Haven't you spoken in public before?"

"Nope." His eyes scanned the crowd. "Fuck _me_, that's a lot of spandex."

"I can introduce you if you like -"

"Nope, got it." He took a deep breath and pressed the button; his words rolled out over the auditorium. "Hey there. My name's Security. Thanks for showing up. Now for an important message." He held it for a beat. "You're all gonna die."

_That_ got their attention; people previously lounging in their seats were now sitting upright, their expressions ranging from shock to anger. Nor was Emily too thrilled; _I've been doing my best to keep things calm, and he has the idiocy to come out with __**that**__?_

He let the rising hubbub mount for a few seconds, before he spoke again. "You're gonna die unless, and _only_ unless, you listen good and hard to what I've got to say. It's no exaggeration that what I've got to tell you tonight is the most important thing you'll ever hear. Without exception."

Lights were coming up on the board now; dozens, hundreds, of people wanting to ask questions. She glanced sideways at him. "Take a question?" she mouthed. He nodded; she pressed one at random.

"_What is this great threat?"_ She couldn't see who was asking the question. _"What could kill all of us here?"_

"Well, an Endbringer, for one thing," he replied. "But more specifically, in this instance? Zion. Or, as most of you know him, Scion." He nodded to Emily, and she tapped a few keys on her keyboard. On the huge screen behind him was projected image after image of the golden-skinned man, interspersed with videos of him stilling tidal waves, battling Endbringers, quelling forest fires. Allen began to speak once more; Emily left the last image on the screen, frozen.

"Those of you who know him, most of you anyway, see him as a great hero. And yeah, he's saved lives. Helped people. Chased off Endbringers. But it's all a big con. The biggest. He's not here to _help_ you. He's pretending to be a superhero, but he's not even remotely human. That thing up there pretending to be a man, that's the answer to the biggest question that's ever been asked over the last thirty years." He paused for effect, then asked the question. "Where do powers come from?"

Instant uproar. He let it happen, scanning the crowd once more. Again, people were putting up lights on the board, wanting to be heard. Emily went to click on one, but he was faster.

"_How can you call him anything but a hero?"_ asked a female voice with a middle-Eastern accent. _"He saved my family's lives."_

Shouts of agreement resounded through the room, despite the sound baffles. Allen raised his hand; many of them quieted. "I'll call him that because it's true," he stated flatly. "I'm happy that he helped you, but you have to understand that he wasn't helping you because he felt sorry, or because he thought you deserved help. He needed to appear to be a hero, and your family was convenient."

More shouting. Someone else asked a question. _"If he's not a hero, then what is he?"_

"Okay, this is where it gets weird. His species is a kind of giant multidimensional space whale. Their life cycle involves finding a planet with a sentient population, and handing out powers. These are based in parts of themselves called 'shards' that they can detach, which are housed in their own pocket dimensions. When you trigger, the shard makes a connection with your brain. As you use your powers, and figure out more interesting and complex ways to use them, your shard records them, and you get better at using your powers. Anyone not following me so far?"

They had quieted, and were listening intently. Only a few people wanted to speak; he clicked on one, apparently at random. _"You speak as though this were a bad thing. With these powers, we can help people."_

"This is true," he agreed. "You can. The trouble is, because of the powers, there's a lot more people needing help. I'm going to say something now, and I want you to listen very carefully. _Powers breed conflict, and conflict feeds powers._ It's all about conflict. It's _always_been about conflict."

The next question that was asked was more thoughtful. _"But surely there are powers that are not about conflict."_

"Really?" He sounded dubious. "Does anyone know of one? A naturally triggered power that isn't capable of causing conflict in some way? Anyone?"

A lot of people looked around, but nobody spoke up to refute him; after a few moments, he kept talking. "Didn't think so. Okay then. The latter half of the life cycle is that after a period of time, he harvests the shards, all fat with experience, then he blows up the planet for energy, and moves on."

The man next to the woman in blue had his hand raised; Emily clicked on him._ "Her Excellency wishes to know of why she needs be here, if her world is in peril not?"_

"Oh, I'm sorry." His tone did not indicate sorrow. "Perhaps I wasn't specific enough. He blows up _all versions_ of that world, all the dimensional variants. He's multidimensional; stepping from one world to another is as easy for him as walking through a door into another room. And if there's people on a world, if shards have managed to leak over, then it's ripe for harvesting."

"_How can we hope to fight him, if he can blow up planets?"_ That was from someone far back up in the auditorium.

"Because he hasn't started harvesting shards yet. He needs to do that before he can get the power to really cut loose. It wasn't supposed to happen for another sixteen years, but something's going to trigger an attack from him in the next six to twelve months. So he's going to set out to wipe out humanity, and harvest all your shards by killing you. And then he'll blow up all the variant Earths, and go on his merry way. But we have a battle plan; if we can have it up and running before he decides to kick over the apocalypse, we can end him, and end the threat. Once and for all."

The man in the opulent robes raised a hand; the board was indicating that he wished to speak, so Emily clicked on him. He took his time to ask his question; when he spoke, his voice was calm and measured. _"You seem to be remarkably well-informed about these matters. I had never heard of them before."_

Allen glanced down very briefly, then smiled tightly. "I am well-informed about a great many things, Phir Sē of the Thanda. You have my sympathy for your wife and sons. Is your daughter here tonight?"

Phir Sē, if that was his name, seemed jolted by the answer. _"Yes, she is,"_ he replied slowly. _"How did you know about that?"_

"The same way that I know that you faced the hardest choice in the world; stop a monster, or save your loved ones. I don't know that I could make the choice that you did."

Emily saw a message scroll across her screen. _Where is he getting this from? My power's getting all sorts of weird readings from him, but he doesn't have powers, does he? - Chevalier._

_Wait and see. The best part's yet to come,_ she typed back.

Phir Sē was still talking. _"That is not an answer. Where do you get this knowledge from?"_

"Where I get it from isn't the important part," replied Allen, "but if it'll make you happy, here goes." He drew a deep breath and Emily saw him cross his fingers behind the desk. "I'm not from around here."

_"That is not much of an answer," _Phir Sē retorted. _"Nor am I. And some of our guests, I suspect, are from other worlds. Are you one of those?"_

"No. Let me put it this way. You – and by that, I mean every one of you out there before me – are as far above a normal human as an adult man is above a newborn baby. Am I correct?"

_"You are." _Phir Sē's tone was casual. _He thinks he knows where this is going, _Emily realised. _"And you're saying that you're that much farther above us, is that it?"_

A shake of the head. "Again, no. Endbringers are that much higher than you. Zion is that much higher than any one Endbringer. I'm that much higher above Zion. I'm from outside your universe, your multiverse. I'm _older_ than your universe. It was one of my kind who set all this, all you know, into being."

Absolute pandemonium erupted. People were standing, screaming, waving their arms. Allen had not, Emily noticed, switched away from Phir Sē. The man in the opulent robes was not one of those standing and shouting; he was watching Allen appraisingly. Then he leaned forward to the microphone; due to whatever Tinkertech was in play, his voice cut through the din like a hot knife through butter.

_"If you are so all-powerful, then why do you need us? Why do you not simply destroy this false god?"_

Shouts of agreement arose; Allen waited them out. "Because I'm not all-powerful. This, who you're looking at, isn't the true me. A very close copy, yes, but one I created to insert into this reality. It took me no effort at all to arrange matters so that _I had always been here._ But I made certain that this version of me couldn't even trigger with powers."

_"That makes no sense at all," _remarked Phir Sē. _"Knowing what you were going to be facing, why would you not arrive with as much power at your disposal as possible?"_

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Allen assured him. "If I'd wanted to, I could have obliterated Zion at any moment before my arrival, or even after I got here, if I'd wanted to have that much power to play with in this universe. But I chose not to, and so I arrived with just one advantage. The knowledge of how everything was going to turn out, and all the important information about all the significant players."

He clicked off of Phir Sē, and on to another person's blinking light. As it happened, this was Lung. _"Why?" _demanded the villain. _"If you could have so much power, why would you hamper yourself so badly?"_

"Oh, that's an easy one," Allen replied. "It would've been altogether too boring, otherwise."

He paused then, to pour a glass of water from the jug at hand. As he drank, Emily considered the content of his words. He hadn't mentioned either Cauldron or Eden as yet, and she wondered if he was going to. _Too much detail,_ she decided. _He's hitting the high notes. _He wasn't precisely _lying_ about matters; he was just telling them what they needed to know.

Out in the audience, a lot of chatter was going on, and then a light sprang up on the board. He clicked on it.

* * *

Max

* * *

Kaiser smiled when the red light showed up on his microphone. _Time to make the precious Security squirm just a little. _"You make very bold claims. Can you back any of them up? For all we know, you're simply an ordinary man spinning an extraordinary story. You've very neatly tied up all the loose ends, after all."

Up on stage, Max saw Director Piggot glare in his direction. She was about to speak, when Allen gestured her to silence.

_"I could be, yes,"_ he agreed. _"I don't suppose that you're willing to take the word of Director Piggot here beside me, or the members of the Triumvirate there?"_

Kaiser smiled silkily. "I might be; others may not. People can be fooled, after all. Even the Triumvirate."

For a moment, he thought that he may have miscalculated, as Eidolon began to get up from his place at the desk; however, Legend urged his teammate to sit down once more. That done, the leader of the Protectorate activated his own microphone.

"_I think you underestimate us, Kaiser. Using our own abilities, we've been able to confirm much of what he says, and none of it has been actually shown as false. We now know far more about the nature of our foe, and how to beat him."_

Allen was leaning back in his chair, apparently relaxed. _"And even if that isn't good enough for you, I've got two forms of proof. One's short term and one's long term. Long term is simple; Leviathan was due to hit this city in a little over two weeks, on the fifteenth. If I've done it right, he's not going to be attacking anywhere, ever again. Nor are the others."_

"That's all very well and good," Kaiser retorted. "But it still doesn't help us here and now. How are we to believe you right at this moment?" He knew that people were listening to him, taking his words in.

Allen cleared his throat; when he spoke, his tone was light, amused. _"Uh, you'll have to excuse Kaiser, ladies and gentlemen. I've had to put him in his place a few times, and he's feeling a little butt-hurt. I guess that this is the first chance he's had to get back at me."_

A wave of amusement rolled over the crowd, and Kaiser realised that Allen had snatched the initiative away from him. Before he could respond, the man spoke again. _"But I can answer the question anyway. How many precogs here, or people with some sort of precognitive powers?"_

Hands started to go up here and there; at first a few, then more and more all over the room. _"Okay, that's good,"_ he noted. _"Well then. Here's my point. I'm kind of projecting into this universe. What you're seeing is a tiny fraction of who and what I am. Precogs can't really get a line on me. Their power just slides off. So, which one of you can accurately predict what I'm going to be saying next, or even what I'm going to be doing next? Keep your hand up if you can."_

Time ticked by; five seconds, then ten. A few hands went down. Abruptly, he stood up. Half the hands went down at that point. Lacing his fingers on top of his closely-trimmed scalp, he turned in a complete circle. By the time he sat down, the rest of the hands had been withdrawn.

"_I believe I've made my point?"_ he suggested. _"If every precog in the room has trouble seeing twenty seconds into the future when it comes to my actions, it's got to mean something."_

Kaiser knew that he was losing ground, but it was not in his nature to go down without a fight. "Precognitives also have trouble with Endbringers and Scion himself," he pointed out acidly. "Perhaps you're affiliated with one or the other of them."

"_Oh, for god's sake,"_ snapped Allen. _"I could also be dreaming this. __**You**__ could be dreaming this. This could all be a scene in the mind of a novelist. But even if it was, would it really matter? I'm still here to help. To tell you that you're all needed to fight in the war. That if you don't fight, if you don't believe me, that each and every one of you is in deadly danger. And that danger will not be long in coming."_

His words echoed through the auditorium, followed by silence. Slowly, people began to applaud his words; the clapping spread throughout the auditorium, and Kaiser knew that he had lost the war of words. Slowly, he settled back into his seat, a sour look on his face under his metal mask.

* * *

Emily

* * *

Slowly, people began to converse between themselves. The man at the front, with the lady in blue, raised his hand. Allen clicked his number on the board.

"_Her Excellency recognises your words of meaning. She asks of your words previous regarding planning battle tactics strategy."_

"Now, _that's _the right question," he replied approvingly. "Now, kicking Zion's golden arse isn't going to be just a matter of hitting him hard enough. Quite literally, he's a Warrior. It's what his part of the … species, for want of a better word, is best at. If you haven't surprised him, you won't hit him. If you hit him once, then he knows how you got through his defences, and he won't be surprised a second time. Trying it a third time means that he'll be ready to counterattack, and quite likely take you all the way out."

"_So how are we supposed to fight him at all?"_ The question came from one of the capes in the middle of the room.

"By mixing it up. Brute force, psychological attacks, pulling our people back out of the way, hammering him from one direction, then tag-teaming someone else in who fights totally differently. We're going to have our best minds – and I do mean our _best _minds – working out a branching strategy to adapt to the way he adapts to what we're doing."

More lights on the board. Allen picked one, apparently at random. _"Harassing him and playing it safe doesn't seem like a way to win a battle against someone like Scion. He beats Endbringers. Regularly."_

"Oh, there'll be an endgame," Allen assured the crowd. "We'll all be working toward it. Once the battle's gotten to a certain stage, then we hit him with the third part of the strategy. Getting to the part of him that's locked away in another dimension. His real body. But he's got to be worn down, kept off balance. Made angry. Not thinking straight. Once he's in that state, and _only_ when he's in that state, do we bring the hammer down."

More lights on the board. Allen glanced down, then selected one. Emily recognised Chevalier's voice. _"You're banking a lot on the chance that we can make him angry."_

"Well, given that I know which buttons to press, it's not really a gamble," Allen replied cheerfully. "The trick will be keeping out of the way while we get him pissed _enough_ for stage three to work."

Lights were still popping up on the board; he looked down at it, then back at the audience. "Okay, let's do some questions." He clicked one of the lights.

"_We're going to be going out, fighting, and risking our lives, yes?" _This was from one of the European capes; Emily couldn't tell if he was a hero or a villain.

"That's the size of it, yes," he agreed. "I'm guessing that isn't the question."

"_No, it is not. You talk a good game, but by your own admission, you have no powers. What are you going to be doing while all this is happening? Staying safe at home with the planning committee while we go off and fight your war for you?"_

Allen placed both hands on the desk and leaned forward. "No. That's not what I'm going to be doing. You see, not so long ago, I spoke with a precognitive about my personal chances of surviving this war. And while she couldn't tell me what I'd be doing, she stated quite clearly that if I sat the war out, our side would lose, quite badly. But if I participated, we had a rather good chance of winning. There was just one problem."

"_Which is?"_

"If that happens, I die."

* * *

Mike

* * *

As a conversation-stopper, that was a reasonably good one. Some of the capes had been chatting to one another, while others appeared to be getting up and stretching. Following that little bombshell, all eyes were on me; if any weren't, I couldn't find them.

Lights began popping up on the board; I checked the notes Contessa was leaving me, and selected the right one. _"You're reasonably safe, though, right? Your body here dies, you just get to pop back to your higher plane."_

"Yeah, well, you'd think, and I kind of hope it works that way," I admitted. "In any case, I was kind of looking forward to helping clean up in the aftermath. Things you guys are gonna need to know about."

Before anyone else could ask the next question, Director Piggot spoke up; she used her microphone so that everyone heard the question, but at the same time, she addressed me directly. "What sort of things do you mean?" _You never mentioned the aftermath,_ her eyes accused me.

"Ah yeah, it's to do with powers," I explained. "See, one of the things that Zion is doing properly right now is that when he hands out a shard to someone, he makes sure that the required secondary powers come along with it. Applying the Manton limit if necessary, making sure that a guy with fire powers isn't going to incinerate himself, that sort of thing. Once he's dead, there's no-one to do that any more; new powers are gonna become a lot more dangerous to the users. And to everyone else around them."

That little bombshell provoked a storm of response; I picked a light out of the several that Contessa had okayed, and clicked it.

"_Do you mean to tell us that the Manton limit is __**artificial**__?"_

I shrugged. "Well, _yeah_. Think about it for a moment. Arbitrary as hell, specifically aimed to prevent you from either killing yourselves by accident or from being too powerful. Only follows very basic guidelines, can't be nailed down past that. Some capes don't have it, some manage to surpass it. A law of nature, it ain't."

* * *

Emily

* * *

She had thought herself beyond surprise; Michael Allen, she had assumed, was a known quantity. This particular revelation proved her wrong. As much as she wanted to laugh at the stunned looks on the faces of virtually every cape she could see, she herself was mentally reeling as her worldview shifted dramatically. What she had considered to be a basic underpinning of parahuman powers was just an artificially imposed rule.

She was vaguely aware of another cape asking a question. _"Earlier, you mentioned a link between shards and conflict. Surely it's not as simple as that. After all, we're thinking, intelligent human beings, right?"_

Allen snorted. "Hah. Yeah. Right. Ninety percent of the time, you only _think_ you're thinking. The human brain makes most of the judgement calls below the level of consciousness, and leaves the forebrain the job of justifying our moronic actions after the fact. Shards plug themselves directly into the brain, via the corona pollentia and the gemma. When you get powers, your brain is rearranged. So are your priorities. Your entire personality can undergo a makeover. Most of the time, this involves more chance of ending up in a conflict situation. Also, the shards are alive, and they're thinking, in their own way. If they get the chance, they'll work to influence you toward exercising your powers more, which generally means pushing you toward conflict."

"_So what you're saying is that having powers, getting powers, makes us crazy?"_

"Not _crazy_ as such; they just change the way you look at the world. Make you more likely to want to use your powers to fix what you see wrong with it. To a hammer, every problem's a nail and all that. But yes, some people are prone to going over the line, and getting powers _can_ be the tipping point. Shards don't care about good or evil, about actions and consequences. They just want to be used. To be improved."

Emily stared at him. With every word, he was answering the deep-down questions she had harboured for _are capes so broken? Why does this shit just keep happening?_ It made so much sense. It _all_ made so much sense.

"_I have trouble believing that. I have powers, but right now I don't feel any particular need to use them on anyone."_

"Sure," he agreed. "Right now, no. But can you imagine never using your powers again? Just walking away from them? Not gonna happen, right? Your powers _want_ to be exercised, to be used in new and interesting ways. And you _want_ to use them. The temptation becomes nearly irresistible. Tinkers and Thinkers have it worst, in a way; their powers are mentally based, so their powers bombard them day and night with either information or inspiration. In the end, it's almost impossible _not_ to act on them." He paused for a moment. "But don't take my word for it. Any Tinkers or Thinkers out there got a different opinion on the matter?"

While he waited, he poured another glass of water, and drank. Emily found that her throat was dry, and poured herself a cup as well. Renick leaned over to her; she checked to make sure her mic was off. "What?" she whispered.

"Did you know any of this before?" he asked, just as quietly.

"No. Did you?"

"God, no. It makes so much sense."

She shook her head, not in negation, but in wonder. "The number of times I've just wanted to bang their heads together … "

"So many times I thought they were just being irresponsible."

"Well, they_ were_. But their powers, their shards, were whispering in their ears all the time."

"Yes. I think -"

He was cut off by a question from the audience. _"Where do Endbringers fit in? Do they have particularly powerful shards that have driven them all the way over the edge, or something? And what have you done to ensure that they don't return?"_

* * *

David

* * *

Eidolon froze. He was only vaguely aware of Legend's hand on his arm as he awaited Security's reply. The man despised and detested him, he was sure; knowing what his own insecurities had caused the people of the world to suffer through, year after year, attack after attack, some days he couldn't stand _himself._

It didn't help that he'd chosen not to take therapy at first, until Security had spelled out to Alexandria in careful detail exactly what would happen if they actually managed to kill an Endbringer. When Alexandria, in turn, laid down the law to him, he finally went ahead with it. And despite his initial doubts, he felt that he really was getting somewhere.

Of course, Security could ruin him with a word, even now. And he wasn't entirely sure that he didn't deserve it.

"Okay," began Security. "The first thing that you have to understand here is that the Endbringers are a _mistake._ They were never intended to be deployed in this way. They're a superweapon, created and controlled by a particular shard, with the intent to maintain conflict in a controlled manner. That shard was never intended to leave entity control, but due to a series of screwups, it ended up in gen pop. It's since been employed, without the person ever really knowing what it was about. Once I arrived here, I took measures. With luck, what I did will fix the problem. _Has_ fixed the problem."

David blinked. _He's not … he's not crucifying me?_

"_You're being very vague here." _That was the cape who had originally asked the question.

"Yes. I am. With good reason."

"_What did you do?"_

"Sorry, but that's one of the things I'm just going to have to be vague about."

"_The world's been ravaged for nearly twenty years by those monsters. Don't we deserve to know more about them?"_

"No. Seriously, _no_." David couldn't miss the impatient tone in Security's voice. "Don't you get it? The knowledge _alone_ is dangerous. It's very much a 'need to know' situation."

"_All right, so who had the shard?"_

_Oh shit. Here it comes._

"That's something you definitely do not need to know. Just that the problem is under control."

"_As far as you know."_

"As far as I know, yes."

"_That's not particularly comforting."_

"A crapload better than 'definitely not under control, no sir', like it used to be, right?"

"_Very well. Whose control are they under? Yours?"_

"Hah. God, no. But they should be dormant now, or at least not about to cause problems."

David sagged back against his chair. _No. They won't. Not if I can help it._

"_Can we use them against Scion?"_ A wave of what he took to be agreement washed across the audience.

"That's a distinct possibility. We'll have to see how that goes. For the moment, we're not factoring them in."

_"Can you tell us any more about them?"_

"Not right now, no."

_"Well, when?"_

The impatient tone was back. "When I decide that it's necessary. Now, let's get off this topic. You." He clicked on another light.

* * *

Lisa

* * *

_"You say that you didn't make this universe."_ The new questioner sounded curious, and a little disbelieving. Lisa was less so; she was listening to the tone of Mike's voice, watching his posture, and she was starting to come to terms with the idea.

_"That's correct. I'm only visiting." __**Sounds true.**_

_"Can you tell us about ... well, about whoever it was that did?"_

A chuckle. _"Sorry. I don't really know him. I just like what he's done here." __**True enough.**_

_"Won't he object that you're intruding on his creation? Making changes?"_

_"Nah, he's cool with it. Besides, as soon as I arrived, this particular version split off as an alternate. It's the way this sort of thing goes." __**There's something he's not telling us.**_

_"So there's another world, another version of us, where this isn't happening?"_

_"Hah. Not just one. There's the original, and then there's about a bazillion alternates apart from this one." __**Dammit, what is it that you're not saying?**_

_"And are you responsible for all of these alternates?"_

_"Nope. Nowhere near. A few, yes, but not all that many in the grand scheme of things." __**Holy shit, he's done this**_** before**_**?**_

_"So have you done this in your other alternates as well?"_

_"Not really. This is the first time I've actually stepped into a universe personally, to be honest. Up till now, I've just meddled from the outside. It's how most of us do it." __**Argh, there's something deeper here. I just can't pick it.**_

_"So what's life like on these other alternates?"_

_"Sometimes shitty, sometimes good, sometimes bizarre. I'm not going to go into more detail because ... well, reasons." __**Something you really don't want to talk about, more like. Why? Were you an asshole in them? Is this your penance?**_

"_Is there anyone else likely to be meddling, as you put it, while you're here? I mean, what's the possibility that your plans will go astray because someone else wants to change events to their liking?"_

"_Nah, that's not going to be a problem. Soon as someone else starts changing matters here, it'll split off again. The only time you get two outside effectors happening at once is if they agree to it ahead of time." __**Wait a minute …**_

"_I'm having trouble with the timeline of events here. How do you know all this is going to happen if you entered our universe weeks ago?"_

Mike sighed. _"You're really not getting the 'from outside your universe' bit, aren't you? To us, your reality is more or less an open book. We can fast-forward and reverse, and pick exactly when and where we want to step in and start changing matters."_

Lisa sat bolt upright in her seat, her eyes wide. _**Holy fuck, no. Not fucking possible.**_ The pieces were clicking together in her head; she barely heard the questioning continue.

_"If you __**hadn't**__ arrived and started changing matters, would we have still won this war that you say is looming?"_

_"Yes. But a lot more people would have died than should happen now. Before I got here, some people knew that he was the bad guy; they just had no idea how to fight him. Also, there were people in bad situations whom I helped, because why the hell not. There's people who would have led miserable lives, gotten hurt, killed or worse, who've now got a chance to get past all that and have a chance at a happy life."_

_"Killed ... or __**worse**__?"_ The questioner's voice held doubt.

_"Yeah. Trust me, there's worse."_ He paused to sip his water. _"All the time I've been here, I've been working off of a plan, one that had several levels. I'm pleased to say that the plan is nearly done, nearly finished. Only one really big step to go after this one."_

It was Alexandria who asked the question. _"What step is that?"_

He took a few moments to answer. _"Win the damn war."_

* * *

Emily

* * *

No more questions were forthcoming for the moment; he leaned back and drank some more water. Emily covertly studied him; for a world-altering being of apparently immeasurable power, he looked remarkably normal. Out in the audience, capes were chatting back and forth, discussing his words.

They looked a little shell-shocked, and so they should. She had spent ten years as Director of one of the most pestilentially cape-infested hellholes on the east coast, and she'd learned more about capes and powers during the last five minutes than she had over the previous five _years_. However, she _was_ taking it better than most of them were, though whether that was due to her previous association with Allen or her own personal level of bloody-mindness, she wasn't quite sure.

A light popped up on his board. He clicked on it.

"_I have a question._" It was Chevalier's voice. _"This battle plan which you mentioned; is it possible to give us an overview?"_

"Sure," Allen agreed. "Now, specific details won't be in it, because I'm not the one to work out specific details. But here's how it's gonna go. We've got people who can hand out a beating, and can take one. We've got ranged blasters, and close-in brawlers. Those are the ones that are going to be pummelling on Zion."

He paused, and when he continued, his voice was much more serious. "However, there's one _huge_ caveat for all of you. Zion's a _Warrior._ He will adapt to any damn attack you throw at him. You're using shards, after all. He's _made_ of shards. And as soon as you hit him with something, he'll know how to get around it the second time through. Also, if it's an attack that's likely to put him on the ropes, he'll evade _before_ you ever hit him with it. He's a cheating cheater like that. This is why some of you will be held back until the right time.

"So," he went on. "Hit him, and hit him hard. But don't hit him _twice_ the same way. Do not fall into a pattern. Some of you have your favourite attacks, and the temptation will be to spam that attack when you go up against him." He paused. _"Don't._ I cannot stress this enough." Another pause. "You're not going to one-shot him. This is _not_ going to happen. He's got a weird sort of precog that lets him skip around attacks that are likely to down him. But he's not gonna go easy on you, either. So hit him, once or twice, depending on how many different variations of attacks you have, then pull back. You'll be getting orders to that effect anyway. Now you know why.

"Assisting in the pulling-back side of things will be the Movers and other space-time twisters we have here. Each and every one of you will be assessed as to exactly how you can help, and you will be slotted into the master plan so as to get the very best out of your capabilities. Interspersed with the attacks will be psychological warfare. For that we'll need shapers of all kinds. If you can create an image or shape matter, you'll be shown what you need to create an image of. These will screw with his head, and take the pressure off of our fighters. Anyone getting hurt gets pulled back all the way, and put into the highly capable hands of our healers.

"Now I'm gonna say this just once, but I mean it." He stood up then, and looked out over the audience. "I don't care who you are and what you've done before now. I don't care who it is who we get in from elsewhere to bolster your ranks. Not one person who goes into that war is expendable in my book. We're not gonna throw a single life away. People might die, yeah. That shit happens. But if it happens, it'll be _despite_ our best damn efforts, not because we didn't give a shit about some villain or hero. Absolute best outcome, we have two casualties. Zion and me." Placing both hands on the desk, he leaned forward. "Does anyone _not _get that?"

For an answer, there was dead silence from the audience. "I'm gonna take that as an indication that you got it," he decided. "Which is good. Because in a situation like that, you don't need to be obsessing over who did what to whom in the last cape battle. This is gonna be the be-all and end-all of cape battles, and we're gonna need you all to be bringing your A-game." He paused and looked out over the audience. "You'll be contacted over the next few weeks and months, so your particular role in the battle can be finalised. Training will also happen, in both battlefield evolutions and in using the comms you will be issued."

He paused for a few seconds. "Just remember this; if you have to discuss this matter, try to be behind some sort of security screen when you do so. Don't do it over unshielded comms. Don't do it over _shielded_ comms, if you can help it. The last thing – the _very_ last thing – we want is Zion getting wind before we're ready to lower the boom on him.

"Oh, and one more thing." His eyes roved over the auditorium. "I know that there's a lot of villains here. You're here because you can help out. But if even one of you decides to make a profit by sabotaging the process, then trust me, once you actively start to threaten the plan, your life expectancy will be measurable in _seconds. _That's not a threat or a promise. It's the way it's gonna be. Believe it."

Lights sprang up on his board; he selected one more or less at random.

"_I thought you said that you didn't have any special powers."_

"That's true, yes."

"_How are you going to enforce that, then?"_

Allen cleared his throat, rather theatrically. "Thank you for asking that. Reach under your seat, will you?"

There was the tiniest of scuffling of noises over the speakers; Emily couldn't see who it was, in the audience. Then the voice came back. _"What the hell?"_

"It's a note, isn't it, Venator?" Allen sounded almost bored. "All capitals. 'DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT', with your name on it. Yes?"

"_Christ, how did you -"_

"The note was placed under your seat and your seat only. Because you were going to ask the question. Now, for your own safety, consider the question answered. Yeah?"

When he answered, the cape sounded rather shaken. _"Yeah, okay. Got it."_

"Good." He got up from his chair. "Thank you all for coming. Any other questions, I'm pretty sure that Director Piggot or the Triumvirate can answer them. Anything they can't answer, you probably don't need to know right now."

Emily activated her microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen … Security."

* * *

Mike

* * *

The applause took me by surprise, just as it had the first time. Director Piggot and Deputy Director Renick were both clapping as well; I paused and bowed briefly toward the audience, before clicking my mic back on. "L33t. Meet me at the doors."

Ignoring curious stares, I headed along the stage and down to the doors, where I waited. Only a few moments passed before L33t showed up, accompanied by Über. "What?" asked the Tinker. "What do you want?"

I grinned at him. "You want to find out where you fit into all this?"

He blinked at me. "Oh, uh, I guess?"

"Good." I looked at Über and shook my head. "You stay."

"But we're partners," protested L33t. "If I go, he goes."

"Über's got something else to do," I explained. "Something just as important."

"I don't know about this," Über began in his resonant voice, but I wasn't listening; looking past him, I gave Alexandria a high sign. She lifted from her seat and landed next to him.

"One for your lot," I suggested.

She barely hesitated before nodding in agreement. "Come on," she told him. "We've got things to talk about." With her hand on his shoulder, he had no choice but to go with her.

L33t watched them go, looking lost; I tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "Walk with me." I opened the doors, and we exited. Outside, the PRT guards nodded to me; I nodded back, then led L33t off down the hallway. "I've got three jobs for you, L33t. They're difficult, but I figure you can pull them off. And they just might make your shard a little happier with you."

"About that." L33t was staring at me. "All that stuff you were talking about. Shards and powers and conflict and you being a visiting god or something … is that all bullshit or what?"

I looked him in the eye. "Every word I said in there was true. You might not get all of it, not right now, but it's as true an explanation of what's going on as any. Now, do you want to hear the jobs?"

"Are we gonna be able to do a theme with this?"

I raised my eyebrow at his question. "I don't give a damn how you dress. So. First job. Flechette's power can make a projectile ignore things like inertia, gravity and armour. She does this by making the projectile appear in _all_ realities at once, and bypassing armour in those realities. Can you make a handheld weapon that fires projectiles like that?"

L33t blinked. "I, uh … maybe?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not fucking _maybe._ Yes or fucking no?"

"Sure," he ventured. "I guess. I don't think I ever made anything like that before."

"Good. If you need resources, ask the PRT. Tell 'em I sent you."

His eyes widened at that. "O-okay." He paused, apparently regaining his thoughts. "What's the second job?"

"One I know you can do," I replied. "Study Weaver's power and build something small that can mimic that power."

"Small?" L33t asked. "How small?"

"No larger than six inches by one foot by two feet."

"There might be power supply issues."

"It doesn't have to run for more than a few minutes."

L33t nodded. "Okay, I can do that. I think. What's the third job?"

"To explain that one properly," I told them, "I'm gonna need to take you on a field trip."

* * *

Doctor Mother

* * *

The Doorway opened directly in front of her desk; she looked up, a little puzzled, but not particularly alarmed. When two strangers stepped through, she quickly became very alarmed indeed. "What? Who are you? How did you -" she began.

"Hey, hey, settle," the big guy told her, while the wimpy one stared around at her office. "Mike Allen. Security. Contessa would have told you about me."

"Oh, right," she agreed. "She did." She stared at the other one. "Who -"

"L33t's just visiting," he told her. "We're here to see Eden."

"Eden … ?" she began, puzzled. "We don't have a parahuman of that name, here."

He sighed. "Bloody fanon," he muttered obscurely. "The flesh garden. The second entity."

"You want to see … _that?_ You want to show _him?"_

He nodded. "Yup. Specifically, the humanoid form."

"Oh. Right."

Behind Security, she saw the look on L33t's face. It wasn't hard to interpret.

* * *

L33t

* * *

_What have I gotten myself into this time?_

Trudging across a nightmare landscape of flesh formed into almost recognisable shapes, he wasn't sure if he really wanted an answer. There were hands and feet and arms and legs, all growing haphazardly here and there; in other places, the fleshscape twisted in upon itself into fractal infinity.

Faces, eyes, mouths, other body parts, rose around him like a Dali-esque painting. He wanted to throw up, but he didn't dare.

"Uh, so where _are_ we?" he asked; he really didn't want to know, asked anyway.

Allen glanced at the woman cryptically titled 'Doctor Mother'. With her white lab coat, she looked kind of like a doctor. She didn't look or sound anything like a mother as she replied. "That's classified."

"Okay, then what's this thing?" He gestured around them.

"The second entity," Allen explained. "Zion's just the first of two. This is the one we call Eden. She kind of landed a bit harder than she intended."

L33t took a few seconds to absorb that revelation. "There's _two_ of them?" he blurted. "Fuck, there's two of them. Holy crap."

"Yup." Allen sounded almost cheerful. "If you were wondering what Zion looked like behind the curtain, this is it. Don't worry, this one's dead, or close to it." He pointed at Doctor Mother. "She killed it."

L33t looked at the woman again, and silently shook his head. _Fuck __**me**__._

"Here it is." Ahead of them, Doctor Mother indicated one of the fleshy growths. This one, however, was more … complete than the others. Allen had mentioned a 'humanoid form', and this was true. It was sexless, but had long hair; the fractal patterns led off of it into … where?

"What _are_ those things?" L33t pointed at one of the fractal areas.

"Extensions into the dimension were it was going to be storing its body, once it finished making its humanoid form," Allen explained. "Don't touch; you might go there, and then we might never get you back. Besides, there's probably no air there."

"Christ." L33t shivered, despite the warmth in the air. "What am I doing here? What do you want from me?"

Allen pointed at the humanoid form. "You're going to build an animatronic doll of that. But you're going to make it look alive. And you're going to give it the same sort of power emanations that Zion has. Good enough to fool him. Think you can pull it off?"

L33t blinked. "You want me to … make a doll to mimic _that?_ What is it, Scion's girlfriend?"

Allen's expression didn't change as he nodded. "Close enough, yeah."

"And what are you going to do with it, once I've built it?"

Allen told him.

* * *

Mike

* * *

I dropped him back to his workshop; he was still somewhat pale, but at least he wasn't whimpering any more. "You going to be all right?" I asked.

"Ungh," he replied. "Coffee. Coffee-coffee-coffee." Staggering over to something that looked like a cross between a drill press and a mad scientist's chemistry set, he pulled controls with almost frantic urgency, ending up with a cup of some evil-smelling brew. It must have tasted almost as bad as it smelled, because he shuddered as it went down, but by the time he finished the cup his eyes were back in focus, and his colour was improving.

I eyed him carefully. "You okay _now?"_

"Yuh." His answer was more of a grunt than a word. "Gonna need pictures of that thing we looked at. Maybe access to Weaver and Flechette at some point."

"We can sort that out as needed," I agreed.

"Hey," he began, as I turned to leave. "Do I get access to that 'doorway' trick?"

"Maybe later," I temporised. "Doorway, to my apartment."

Stepping through, I let the portal collapse as I slumped on to the sofa. It had been a long, tiring day. And it wasn't over yet; I was still due to be yelled at. I didn't need to be Dinah Alcott to know _that_ one was coming.

Sighing, I climbed to my feet and went into the bathroom. Splashing water on my face refreshed me a little; I checked the dressing on my forehead, then changed out my shirt; the dressing on my upper abdomen was still secure.

That little bastard Cody had surprised me with the pistol; to be honest, I hadn't thought he had it in him. He'd tagged me twice, but thankfully it had been a relatively crappy, relatively low-powered pistol, and more thankfully, Riley's subdermal armour had been up to the job. Perhaps, in hindsight, breaking his arms in multiple places had been a little bit of an overreaction, but after all, he _had_ been trying to kill me. I didn't want him thinking he had carte blanche to do it again.

Pulling out my phone, I called up a number and clicked on it. The phone only rang once on the other end. _"You've reached the Wards hotline, Kid Win speaking. How may I help you?"_

"Hey, Kid," I replied. "So the conference is over?"

"_Oh, hi, Mr Allen. Yeah, it's over. I've just relieved Gallant. Did you want to talk to him?"_

"Not Gallant, no," I told him. "Is Weaver there?"

A pause. _"Yeah, she's here. She's just changing. Want me to call her over when she's finished?"_

"Nah, don't bother." I ended the call and put the phone away. _Fuck it. May as well get it over with._ "Doorway to the Wards base."

* * *

Amy

* * *

The portal opened in midair, about ten feet away from where Amy was sitting, waiting for Taylor to finish changing. She stared in surprise as Mike Allen stepped through. She was not the only one; all over the Wards base, heads were turning. Over at the console, Kid Win was frozen in the act of replacing the phone on its cradle.

"Holy shit," exclaimed Clockblocker. "And here you said you didn't have any awesome powers."

"I don't," Mike replied. "I've just been given access to someone else's abilities."

Without conscious volition, Amy found herself on her feet; Mike turned just in time to meet her attack. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, and she held him close. She felt his arms go around her, and they hugged one another. "Hey," he murmured. "Hey. It's okay. I'm here."

"But you're gonna _die,"_ she told him, quite proud of the fact that she wasn't crying yet. "You _said_ so. Up on the stage."

"Look, it's all right," he reassured her. "I won't die for real. I'll just, you know, snap back to where I came from."

"You only half believe that," she accused him. "I can read your body, remember?"

"Yeah, well, okay, I don't know for _sure,"_ he confessed. "But it's a pretty good chance. And anyway, even if I do go out, it'll be for a real good cause. Making sure you and yours have a good life from here on in."

"But _you won't be there,"_ she retorted, closer to tears than before.

He ruffled her hair. "Sure I will," he told her comfortingly. He went to say more, but Taylor hit them from the side, forcing Mike to take a few steps to regain his balance. "Whoa, hey, hi Taylor," he greeted the newcomer.

"Don't you 'hi Taylor' me, Mike Allen," she replied sternly. "What the hell is this? When did you find out? When were you going to tell us?"

He shrugged as best he could with both Amy and Taylor hugging him. "I found out just before the heart attack. It kind of contributed. And I was going to tell you … well, shit, I couldn't really find the right time to tell you. I'm sorry. Both of you."

"It's not just us that you're going to have to apologise to," Amy informed him tartly. "Riley looked really upset too. So you're going to need to go visit her, and soon."

"Oh god, yeah." He closed his eyes. "Argh. I'm sorry. So caught up with the whole 'save the world' thing that I didn't think about how you guys might feel about it."

"Do you _have_ to die?" asked Taylor. "Amy and Riley can fix you up really good, right Amy?"

"God yes," Amy agreed. "We can make you even tougher than you are now, and make sure you survive."

* * *

Mike

* * *

"Not sure that'll work, guys," I told them regretfully. "I think me dying is kind of part of the deal. Even as I am now, I've got about two percent chance of survival. Dunno how high you can make it with all your powers, and upgrading me even more might change other factors. In any case, this is _Zion_ we're going up against. He's kind of the eight hundred pound gorilla."

"But why do you even _have_ to fight Scion?" wailed Amy. "It doesn't make _sense._ No offence, but what can _you_ do to him?"

"Not really sure," I told her. "It'll probably come to me." I had an idea, but only that, and I didn't want to worry either one of them.

"I wish it didn't have to be this way," Taylor told me, her voice muffled. "You're the most awesome security guard _ever_."

"You're just saying that 'cause it's true," I told her, tousling her hair fondly.

"It's _so not fair,"_ Amy maintained. "You've done all this stuff for everyone, and you're going to die, and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Trust me, kiddo," I replied, "compared to the way it would have gone, you're getting a way better deal than you would have if I wasn't here."

"But I'm not talking about me," she insisted. "I'm talking about _you._ You're a _good person. _Even if it doesn't kill you for real, why do you have to go?"

"Maybe because I'll unbalance matters if I stay plugged in too long?" I suggested. "Anyway, chances are I'll still be around to keep an eye on you once I'm gone."

"So you'll be able to visit?" That was Taylor.

I shrugged. "Maybe. No promises. I'll have to see. Anyway, geez. It won't be for _at least_ four months, as far as I know. So it's not exactly a tearful farewell right now, you know?"

Taylor let me go, followed by Amy. "You'll come over for dinner," the shorter girl told me. "At least once a week."

"And bring Mrs Knott, too," Taylor added. "She was the only one who was ever nice to me."

"I can definitely do that," I agreed. "It'll be good to see your dad again. Someone's gotta keep you two ratbags in line."

Taylor rolled her eyes and gave me a shove; I didn't budge, so she ended up pushing herself backward. "Go on, get out of here," she ordered me. "Riley needs you."

"Yeah, I know," I told her; looking around, I spotted a familiar face. "Theo, you want to come with? I might need a referee."

The chunky young man looked at me. "You sound like you're scared of her."

"Of her? No. Of making her cry? God, yes. I hate when that happens."

He sighed. "Okay, just give me a minute."

"Thank you." I wasn't looking forward to this. My dignity, I suspected, was going to take a huge hit.

_Ah well, I guess I deserve it for not forewarning them._

=/=

Accord

"I'm going to make this brief."

There were six people gathered around the table in the small conference room. Alexandria was the one who had spoken; apart from her, there was Accord himself, a humanoid Dragon suit, a teenage girl with a lavender-and-black costume and messy blonde hair – he itched to be able to order her to comb it, do _anything_ to make it neater – a well-built man in his twenties wearing street clothes and a domino mask, and an unmasked woman of about the same age with long brown hair. The last two were at least dressed neatly, which went some way toward soothing his nerves; the costumed girl was the only jarring note.

"Nearly all of us are Thinkers," Alexandria continued, "each one with a slightly different focus. We each have our strengths and our weaknesses. It will be our job, as a whole, to take the disparate capabilities of every cape available to us, and turn Security's vague battle plan into a set of tactical and strategic options. But before we can do that, first of all we need to know one another's capabilities. We'll start with me; does anyone _not_ know who I am, and what I can do?"

Silence greeted her question; Accord would have been astonished if anyone had _not_ known her. She waited, looking at each face in turn. Accord met her eyes levelly, the better to not have to look at the chaos inherent in the blonde's hair. The Dragon suit's gaze was impassive, the teenager was staring into space, and the two uncostumed adults were just a little nervous.

Accord had timed thirty seconds precisely by the clock on the wall before Alexandria spoke again; he was reasonably sure that she hadn't referred to any timepiece. "Very well. Around the table, we have Accord, Dragon, Tattletale, Über and Noelle Meinhardt. Dragon, I'm fairly sure, is also well-known. Has anyone here not heard of Accord?"

Again, the silence stretched on; Accord pondered on the brunette. He had heard the name before, but could not place where from. _Noelle Meinhardt, Noelle Meinhardt …_

"Good," Alexandria stated, breaking into his thoughts. "One less introduction to do. Tattletale, can you tell us about yourself?"

The girl in the lavender and black costume didn't respond at first; she appeared to be still staring into the middle distance. Accord was just deciding how painful her death would be if she showed him the same level of disrespect when Alexandria spoke again, somewhat more sharply. "Tattletale! Are you paying attention?"

Tattletale blinked, then nodded. "Yeah, I'm listening. We've all heard of you, Dragon and Accord."

Alexandria frowned. "That's true. But you're not so well known. Please give us the details of your capabilities."

"Oh, right. I'm really good at putting the pieces together, making inferences. Even the tiniest bit of data can be used to build the whole picture. That's me." She gave Alexandria a cheeky grin and a vague salute.

Accord gritted his teeth at the mocking tone, but Alexandria cleared her throat before he could respond. "You will curb that attitude," she stated quellingly. "I know how much you love to tweak and niggle people, to prove that you're the smartest person in the room. This is not the place for that. Not in this team, not with these people. Do you understand?"

Tattletale wrinkled her nose, but nodded. "Okay, sure. I'll be good."

"Indeed. Über. Your powers, in twenty words or less."

The tall, well-built man – _so this is Über, of Über and L33t_ – cleared his throat; his voice was deep and resonant, as if he were practising for a stage play. "If I need a skill, I have it. If I concentrate, I become world-class at it."

"Which should be useful when it comes to strategy and tactics," Alexandria agreed. "Very well, Ms Meinhardt, you appear to have something to say?"

All eyes turned to the young woman. She swallowed a little nervously, then raised her chin. "Uh, yeah," she replied. "I'm not really sure why I'm here. You've all got powers; I don't."

"No, you do not," agreed Alexandria. "However, I have been reliably informed that you're very good at coming up with small-unit tactics on the fly, making best use of unconventional capabilities. We can use that."

"Only in computer games," protested the young woman. "Never in real life."

"A skill is a skill," Alexandria told her flatly. "We have need of it. Can you work with us?"

Noelle took a deep breath. "I can, yes."

"Good," Alexandria told her. "Because I'm putting you third in the chain of command of this group, after myself and Dragon."

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

_What?_

The woman called Noelle Meinhardt had spoken first, a fraction of a second before Über, who was just a little ahead of Tattletale. Accord had kept his own exclamation silent, but only just. _I hope she has a good explanation for this …_

"Why does _she_ get to be in charge?" That was Über.

Tattletale had been shaken out of whatever fugue she had been inhabiting; she wasn't speaking, but she was eyeing Alexandria closely, and then she grinned. "Because Alexandria's not going to be here," she pointed out, then addressed the hero directly. "You'll be helping in the planning stages, but when the war starts, you'll be out there on the front lines."

Alexandria nodded. "Correct."

"But … what about Dragon?" asked Noelle. "She'll still be in charge, right?"

Dragon sighed. "There is something important you need to know about me, if we're going to be planning this properly. I'm an artificial intelligence; my ability to multitask is improving steadily, but we've been advised by Security that Scion might seek out my command centre and destroy it, to deprive us of coordination. If that happens, I will have a backup, and a backup of a backup, but if I do get taken offline, we'll need someone who can make command decisions quickly."

Alexandria didn't seem to be overly surprised at the news, but each of the others reacted a little; Accord kept his own reaction to a minimum. _Probably for the best. She's more likely to react predictably._

* * *

Noelle

* * *

"Why do we even need someone in charge at all?" asked Tattletale. "Because I don't take orders very well."

Noelle found herself less than astonished by that statement.

"Because," Alexandria stated, mirroring her thoughts to a surprising degree, "if we had no-one to give the orders, Accord would probably assume command, and murder you within about five minutes. Which is also why neither you nor Accord will be in the chain of command."

"Hey, what about me?" asked Über. "I can be good at leadership."

"You're good at a _partnership,"_ Alexandria told him. "Noelle has experience with leading people in battle. Simulated battle, certainly, but battle all the same." She paused. "Of course, if she's not up to it, you can have the position. Noelle?"

Up until then, events had been moving on a little faster than Noelle was really comfortable with. A war against Scion. Francis was being asked to help in the battle. _She_ was being asked to help _plan_ said battle. And now she was being offered a leadership role, in the case of Alexandria and Dragon being unable to give orders.

_Do I want to do this?_

After a few moments of considering the question, she realised that she was asking the wrong _course_ she didn't want to do this. No-one in their right _mind_ would want to do this. The right question was something else altogether.

_Can I do this?_

And the answer to that one was easy.

"Well," she told the group, "it's not Ransack, but I'll surely give it a shot."

"Excellent," Alexandria told her, then looked around at the group. "That concludes this meeting. Go home, do what you need to do. I'll be assembling the data we'll be working with. We start roughing out battle plans by next week at the latest."

As Noelle rose, Alexandria slapped her on the shoulder. "Good to have you on the team, Ms Meinhardt. I'm sure you'll do well."

Noelle smiled. "Thanks." But her attention was on Tattletale; the teenager was again just a little spaced out. _What's bothering __**her**__?_

=/=

Aisha

"You were with Lisa the whole time she was at that conference," Brian stated. "What's up with her?"

Aisha shrugged. "I have no idea. She just sat there the whole time, except for a bit where your buddy Mike was talking about how he can go into universes any time he likes – it was all going over _my_ head – and all of a sudden she sat up like something bit her. But she won't tell me what's going on."

From the bathroom, there came the sound of someone throwing up into the toilet.

"Well, since she got back, she's done nothing but drink and then throw up, so _something's_ bothering her," Brian muttered. "And you have no idea what it is?"

"She said exactly one thing to me before she started drinking. _'So __**that's**__ what he fucking meant.'_ What she meant by that, I have no fuckin' idea, big bro."

"Look, just … go and sit with her, okay?" asked Brian. "Take care of her. Make sure she's all right."

Aisha rolled her eyes. "Okay, I guess. What are _you_ gonna do?"

"Me?" Brian shook his head. "Nothing."

"What the hell?" she burst out. "Seriously? You're not going to try to figure this out?"

"Nope." He held up a finger. "She probably means Mike. Security. And given what he was talking about at the conference, she's probably worked out something that no-one else did. And if it's something that makes _her _drink till she throws up, I don't want to know about it. I really don't."

"But what could make her … ?"

He shook his head again. "I _don't_ want to know."

So Aisha went and held Lisa's hair out of the way as she threw up. And then she helped her clean herself up, and put her to bed. As she sat by the bed, listening to Lisa drunkenly cry herself to sleep, she decided that Brian was right.

She really _didn't_ want to know what Lisa had figured out.

* * *

End of Chapter Forty-Seven


	48. Chapter 48

**Security!**

* * *

Part Forty-Eight: Buildup

* * *

_[A/N: the Riley/Piggot interaction has been vastly improved via a submission from Cheiromancer. Read and enjoy.]_

* * *

**Saturday, April 30, 2011**

* * *

Lisa

"So what did you realise? Tell meee."

Lisa closed her eyes and shook her head, carefully. "No. Leave me alone."

"No. Not until you tellll meeeee."

That particular tone of Aisha's voice went through her skull like a bandsaw through soft cheese, but Lisa held firm. "No. Seriously. Leave it alone." Carefully, she sipped at her scalding coffee. Her hangover had hit A-class some time ago and was threatening to hit S-class at any moment, not helped in the slightest by Aisha's insistently wheedling tone. The painkillers she had swallowed earlier just weren't doing the trick. "Believe me, you do not want to know."

"But I _do_ want to know." Aisha leaned close. "I'll leave you alone for the rest of the week," she promised.

It was a lie. Lisa _knew_ it was a lie. "No. You won't. And I'm not going to tell you."

"But why _not?"_

Lisa could feel another headache beginning to overtake the first; a difficult feat, but it was somehow happening due to the miracle that was Aisha Laborn. "Because you won't thank me. And you definitely won't be happier knowing what I know."

"You don't know that for sure!"

"Yes. I do." Lisa took another sip of coffee. "I can't imagine _anyone_ being okay with knowing this. I don't even know why he let _me_ know."

"'cause you're smarter than anyone and I'm your best friend?"

Lisa snorted, very carefully. "No, I'm actually pretty sure that's not it."

"Aisha, leave Lisa alone."

The younger girl looked around in annoyance as her brother entered the kitchen area. "Butt out. I'm allowed to ask her if I want to."

"Not if she tells you to _stop_ asking her." He went to the fridge. "Besides, I thought you decided you didn't want to know?"

"I changed my mind." She flipped her hair. "I'm allowed to do that."

"And Lisa doesn't want to tell you. So respect that." Taking a bottle of juice, he poured himself a cup.

She made a rude noise. "And what about me? Does anyone respect what _I_ want? Nope. I get no love."

"Gotta give respect to get it." He took a drink of juice. "Now leave her alone. Come on." His hand settled on to her shoulder, guided her inexorably from the room.

"Bully. Meanie."

His reply was lost to the sound of Alec playing a video game; Lisa sipped more coffee and cradled her aching head.

_I wonder how much I have to drink to forget it altogether._

=/=/=

Riley

"Seriously, it's like you totally forgot what I told you the last time." She peeled the dressing away from his forehead, dabbed disinfectant, then applied a new dressing. "What were you even _thinking?"_

Mike winced when the disinfectant went on. "I didn't think he'd get a gun and start shooting, that's for sure. I mean, who _does_ that?"

She gave him a very dry look. "Apparently? Him."

"Yeah." His reply was equally dry. "I got that, thanks."

"Lift your shirt." He did so. She removed that dressing as well, cleaned the wound beneath, then applied a fresh bandage. "I thought you said you knew everyone, how they were likely to react?"

"Well, yeah, to a point," he conceded. "But, well, he was never in that situation before, so I didn't know how hard he was likely to escalate."

"And now you know."

"Well, at least he was only able to get hold of a crappy pistol. So I didn't have much to worry about."

Reaching across, she rapped on his skull with her knuckles. "Mike. Listen carefully. _This_ is bullet resistant. _This -"_ She pointed at his eye. " - is _not. _If he'd gotten you there, crappy pistol or no crappy pistol, the bullet would have gone into your _brain._ And even if you survived, I would've had to go in there and fix stuff. Or convince Amy to do it. And do you really want to put something like that on her?"

Up until that point, he had been showing little in the way of physical reaction, but now he wilted. "Ah. Crap. Sorry."

"Sorry's not going to cut it. You're here to save the _world._ Act like it, huh?"

He nodded. "You're right. I'll be more careful. Thanks."

"For what?" she asked, putting the disinfectant away.

"Pulling me up. Giving it to me straight. Not tiptoeing around the subject."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't get me wrong. I'm still upset with you. And I mean, _really_ upset."

She didn't explain any further. He had to know why she was upset. "Yeah. Sorry about that, too."

"Which is why you're going to make me a promise." The set of her jaw dared him to refuse her.

One of his eyebrows twitched upward. "Define." He did not, she noticed, immediately rush to agree.

She took a deep breath. "After it's all … well, over. Once we win …"

"You're assuming we're going to win." His voice held dry amusement.

"Well, if we _lose,_ it won't matter, will it? So shut up and listen."

"Listening." He wasn't grinning, quite. But his faded blue eyes were steady on hers.

"Once we win, I want some sort of … well, sign. That you're alive, somewhere. That you're not really dead."

He took a deep breath. "I can't promise that. Not one hundred percent. This sort of thing's never happened to me before and I don't know for sure what's going to happen this time around." He held up his hand to quell her protest. "But I can promise to try. If I'm able to let you know, I will." A pause. "And if I do …"

She blinked back moisture from her eyes. _I will not cry. Not in front of him. Damn it._ "What?"

"There's a woman called Gladys Knott. Weaver will know how to find her. If I can get word to you, will you pass it on to her too, please?"

Riley tilted her head. "She knows, too?"

"Yeah." He nodded heavily. "She knows. Actually, I've told her that I might introduce you to her sometime. I think she'd be a good influence."

"Okay. Yeah, I think I'd like that." She smiled wanly. "I'll tell her. I promise."

"Good." He got up, tucking his shirt in. "They treating you okay?"

Her mood brightened at the change of subject. "Yeah. This surgery they fixed up for me is a huge improvement over the cell, let me tell you." She pointed to a door. "I've got a little en-suite right back there. A real bed. _Heaven."_

A snort. "Well, you _did _save my life two or three times, so I think they decided that it's probably a good idea to give you a bit more leeway. Especially as it was probably driving them nuts to get all your visitors in and out of your cell." He tilted his head toward the door. "I notice you've still got a guard on you."

She shrugged. "Yeah. But he's kinda protecting me from anyone who wants to get to _me_, you know? As well as, yeah, protecting everyone from me." A smile crossed her face. "I get to go to the cafeteria and pick what I want to eat. He comes with, but that's fine."

"Yeah, I got that." He nodded. "Paige – you know, Canary? Yeah, she's got the same deal. Can't go anywhere without her watchdog. Poor kid. But it's better than the Birdcage."

"Yeah, I saw her in the cafeteria yesterday." Riley hesitated. "I wanted to go and say hi, but …"

"Go ahead," he advised her. "Do it. She can only tell you to go away." A grin crossed his face. "And she's not even allowed to use her power to do it."

"I think I will. Theo's sat with me a few times, but a lot of the time he can't make it. So it would be nice to have someone to talk to at mealtimes."

"Good to hear." He nodded toward the door. "Look, I've got places to be and things to do, but I'll try to drop in and see you, okay?"

"Okay, yeah, I've got work to do too. But Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

A genuine smile stretched his bearded face. "You're welcome, kiddo. Take care."

"Hey, you're the one who got shot, not me!"

Laughing, he left.

=/=/=

Emily

"Do you know why I had you brought here?" Emily leaned forward, not quite glowering at the young girl on the other side of her desk.

Bonesaw – no, _Riley – _didn't shift in her chair, didn't fidget. Her bright blue eyes met Emily's without flinching. "It's about what I said to him, isn't it?"

"Yes." Emily's tone was flat. "It's about what you said to him." Her expression hardened. "You _had_ to know we have the surgery monitored."

"I suspected, yeah." Riley's tone was offhanded. "But you knew what I was _doing._ If you're okay with that, what's wrong with what I was _saying?"_

"Let's play back the recording," suggested Emily dryly, "and see if you can't figure it out."

=/=/=

(Earlier ...)

Cody

He hesitated in the doorway of the surgery, looking for the doctor. The only person he could see was a blonde-haired kid in a cut-down lab coat; she was doing some sort of paperwork at a desk. As he was unable to leave, due to the presence of his PRT escort behind him, he looked around inside the tiny surgery instead. "Uh, where's the doctor?"

"Oh, hi," the kid chirped cheerfully, jumping up from her chair. "Come on in. Sit down, I'll get you sorted out."

"I _said,"_ Cody snapped, "where's the _doctor?"_

"And _I _said, come in and sit down," the girl reminded him. "Wow, who did the job on your arms?"

He shifted uncomfortably, very aware of the awkward bulk of not one, but _both_ arms in immobilising casts, making all but the simplest of tasks well-nigh impossible. "I, uh, some doctor. I wasn't in a state to ask his name at the time."

"No, no," she prattled on. "Come on in." Shutting the door behind him, she more or less dragged him forward and pushed him to sit in a chair. That done, she took the stethoscope from around her neck and plugged it into her ears, then checked his heartbeat with it. "Who _broke_ them?"

"I, uh, it was that guy Security."

"Uh huh, right." She turned back to her desk for a moment. "Hold still for a moment."

Such was her easy manner, despite being nearly ten years his junior, that when she turned back around with a syringe, he didn't react until she'd stuck it in his shoulder and depressed the plunger. He felt the warm tingle spreading through his body. "Hey, wait, what was that?"

Her smile was still bright, but now there was something else in it. Something cold and hard. "Oh, nothing much. Just a little something I dreamed up. It severs your conscious connection to your powers. At some point you'll be given the antidote, but right now you've got exactly zero control over your power. Which means that you and I can have a little chat – _Cody."_

Chills shot up and down his spine and he tried to leap to his feet, but he only lurched a little. "What? You know who I am?" Desperately, he tried to use his power to push himself back a few seconds.

Absolutely nothing happened.

"Sure I do," she replied brightly. "You're Cody. Otherwise known as Perdition. Traded off to the Chinese by Accord for being such a douche. And apparently haven't yet learned your lesson."

"What – what did you do to me? Why can't I move?"

A roll of those cornflower-blue eyes. "Because I also dosed you with a paralytic, _duh."_

"But _why?'_

She sighed with impatience at his slowness. "So you can sit and listen while I tell you how it's going to be."

This was not at _all_ how he had visualised the visit to the doctor. In fact, that raised another question. "But who _are_ you?" For sure, she wasn't just some kid.

"What, really?" Her expression altered to one of surprise. "You don't recognise me? Wow, Jack would be totally disappointed."

And with that, the dots connected themselves. _Blonde girl … Jack … medical … _"Oh shit. You're _Bonesaw."_

Terror poured through him, setting off flares throughout his brain. He'd never been a cape geek, not like Jess, but the members of the Slaughterhouse Nine had been nationally famous. Or rather, _infamous_. This, right here and right now, was the stuff of nightmares. _I'm paralysed, powerless and locked in a small room with __**Bonesaw**__._ The rest of the thought was a wordless wail of despair.

"Relax." Her voice was impatient. "I'm not gonna cut you up."

"But … but … but … what do you _want_ with me?" He paused, another question occurring to him through the haze of terror. "And what are you doing _here?"_ He'd been absent for the fall of the Nine, but he'd heard something about it. But what was _Bonesaw_ doing in the depths of the _PRT_ building?

"To answer your second question first, making things right." She took one of his arms and sprayed something on it; the cast – apparently made of containment foam – melted away, dribbling into a bowl she expertly held under it. Her hands on his unresponsive limb were firm and sure as she prodded him. "Hm. Several breaks. He wasn't very happy with you, was he?"

"I, uh -"

"That was rhetorical. Shut up and listen." Such was her tone that he shut up and listened. "Now, the reason I'm here is that _he_ believes in _me._ He's put his life in my hands several times, has shown more trust in me than _anyone_ since the Nine were defeated. He believes in me so hard that other people have started believing in me too and so I'm here, instead of locked in a cell." Her eyes rose to meet his. "Are you following so far? Say yes."

"Uh, yes?"

"Good boy." She picked up a syringe from a tray and injected it into his arm, discarded it, then repeated the procedure with a second syringe at a different point. "You were in the auditorium. You heard the speech."

She paused, obviously waiting for a response. "Uh, yeah, I did."

Using a spray-can, she began spraying the cast back on to his arm, using the same yellow-white foam as before. "So you know just how important he is to the world. To all of us. And you tried to kill him. You fucking _moron."_

"I, uh, I didn't know -"

She flicked him sharply on the ear. "No. You don't say that. You say _I'm very sorry, Riley. I won't do it again." _Then she went back to spraying the cast on.

"Uh, I'm very sorry, Riley. I won't do it again." He was barely aware of what he was saying. Anything she wanted him to say, anything she wanted him to do, was all right with him so long as he survived the experience.

"_Good_ boy." She smiled brightly, patted him on the cheek, then commenced spraying the solvent to remove the cast from his other arm. "Now, you're not exactly correct when you call me Bonesaw. I'm not her, not any more. I'm _Riley._ Mr Allen – Security – doesn't want me to be Bonesaw any more, so I'm not. I help people, I don't hurt them. Because of him." One syringe after another, she injected something into his arm.

"I, uh -"

"Shut up, Cody."

He shut up.

"But here's the thing. He's really, really important to me. _Really_ important. You get me?" She was leaning close, her eyes intent on his. "Say 'yes, Riley'."

"Uh, yes, Riley."

"So the thing you need to understand is this." She began spraying the cast back on to his arm. "If you even _try_ to hurt him ever again and I find out about it, then I'm going to bring Bonesaw out of retirement one more time." Her voice held absolutely no emotion. "Just. For. You." Abruptly, she smiled, but her eyes remained cold and hard. "And I'll enjoy every _hour_ of it. Until I put an end to it and to you. Do I make myself _totally, positively_ clear?"

Involuntarily, he shivered. "Yeah," he replied jerkily. "Yeah. Got it. Hundred percent. Not gonna try to hurt him. No way."

"And you'll go along with whatever plan they've got for you."

"Yeah. Mr Cooperation, that's me. I promise." He would have promised anything at that moment.

"Yay!" She giggled, bouncing in her chair, a typical twelve-year-old again. "I _hate_ it when my friends fight, don't you?" Before he could respond, she stuck him with yet _another_ needle; he felt his muscles unlocking, his ability to move returning. "Now, I've given you a dose of bone growth stimulant, so your arms should be back to new in about a week or so. Come see me if they aren't, mmkay?"

_Oh, God no. Never again. _"My powers. Are they back?"

"Pfft, no." She rolled her eyes. "Not till we think you can be trusted to not be a total douche again. Enjoy being normal." Strolling over to the door, she knocked briskly on it; it opened to show her guard and his, standing side by side. He'd never been so happy to see a PRT uniform. "You can have him back now, kaythanksbye."

Cody shuffled from the surgery, leaving the cheerful blonde demon behind. He'd have to change his underwear when he got back to his cell. But he didn't mind.

_I'm getting out of here alive. Oh, thank god._

=/=/=

Emily

"So what exactly was _that?"_ Director Piggot folded her arms and gave Riley a hard stare.

Riley seemed to be puzzled. "Uh … a warning?"

"That was a direct threat to his _life."_ Piggot was not thrilled. "Along with a threat to return to your activities as Bonesaw and to torture him for hours. Neither of which I consider to be any kind of good idea. In fact, it could be seen as grounds to put you back into higher security holding."

"But I didn't _mean_ it, not like _that,"_ protested the girl. "Anyway, all Mike would have to do is ask me not to and I wouldn't."

"And if _I _told you not to?"

Riley squirmed. "Um, Mike would want me to do what you told me to do -"

"And do you think that he would approve of you threatening Cody like that?" Emily's voice was icy.

"No, but -"

"So is that a yes or a no?"

Riley sighed, defeated. "No. He wouldn't be happy about it. But Cody tried to _kill _him -"

"I'm fully aware of what Perdition attempted," Emily told her. "He's currently in custody for that very reason. What I want to know is, are we going to see any more behaviour of that sort from you? Was this a one-off, or do I rescind your current privileges?"

"Uh, does Mike -"

"Mr Allen does not know of the incident. Nor will he. Despite his current level of importance regarding the fate of the world, he does _not_ set PRT policy. Nor does he hold any sort of position in the chain of command. You acted out while in a position of trust, dealing with a prisoner in PRT custody."

Riley grimaced. "Okay, yeah, but I didn't actually _hurt_ him. I just told him why he shouldn't have done what he did. And what I might have to do if he did it again."

"And that's the only reason that you're not _already_ in secure holding." _That and Allen seems to have a soft spot for you._ "I just need to know beyond a doubt that you're _never going to do it again."_

A hasty shake of the head, golden ringlets bouncing. "Uh, no, ma'am. I'm not. Promise."

"Good. Now, _some_ punishment is required for this infraction, so you are banned from the canteen for the next week."

* * *

Riley

"Uh, wait, can I say something in my defense?"

Piggot eyed her. "Proceed." _This had better be good,_ her body language stated.

"I want to make the right decisions on my own," Riley told her. "So let me make sure I've got this straight."

She waited for Piggot's fractional nod.

"My behaviour was unacceptable, so you threatened me …"

"Warned you," Piggot retorted icily.

"…_warned _me so as to discourage future misbehaviour. Right."

She sat silently for a moment, kicking her feet idly, waiting for the best moment to deliver her next question.

"So how is that different from my 'warning' Cody for _his _unacceptable behaviour?"

Piggot frowned. "I did not threaten you with death by slow torture, for one. Nor is it _your_ job to correct Cody's behaviour."

Riley opened her mouth and then closed it again. The revelation of Piggot's double standard should have been devastating, but somehow Piggot had found a comeback. _Okay, let's try another tack._

"Even supposing that's right," she responded blithely, "do you really want heroes to be motivated by considerations of personal comfort and convenience? To be deterred by threats?"

"Heroes, no," said Piggot. "But ex-villains who are currently on probation…" She let the words trail off. "And is threatening someone with Bonesaw something you think a hero would do? If you want to be treated like a hero, you had best act like one."

Riley opened her mouth to reply, but Piggot cut her off. "And before you accuse me of a double standard, Riley, tell me why it was acceptable for you to threaten Cody."

"He's a _villain_ …" began Riley, and then hesitated, fearing a trap.

"A villain who is potentially useful if he can be trusted to follow orders?" suggested Piggot mildly.

"Um. Yeah?"

"But who has no proven track record of making good decisions on his own, and so needs to be made aware of the consequences of stepping out of line?"

Yes, Piggot was definitely turning this around on her somehow.

"So I was right to threaten him?" she ventured, feeling the perceived firmness of her previous stance shifting under her feet.

Piggot sighed."Consider making a threat to be a use of force, Riley. It is legitimate if used in a proportionate way and for a good reason by a superior on a subordinate. A disproportionate threat – and _any_ threat to unretire Bonesaw is by definition disproportionate – especially by a doctor on a patient … you do see that this is not the same thing, don't you?"

Riley decided to fall back on what she saw as the single pivotal point of the whole matter. "Mike Allen is the most important person in the world," she stated almost defiantly, "and if it keeps him safe, no threat is too much. Besides, you should be happy to know what might trigger a relapse on my part. You'll know what to watch for."

Piggot frowned. "Are you telling me that if things go badly, you will … misbehave? Because if things go badly, we probably won't have the resources to contain you. And that means we should have you safely locked up before things ever get to that point." She eyed Riley grimly. "Consider your next words carefully."

The silence stretched awkwardly. They faced one another, the overweight PRT director and the young ex-supervillain. Riley searched for words. _Mr Jack would know what to say._ Then she squashed that thought firmly. _I'm not thinking like that any more._

"I really wouldn't let Bonesaw out, you know," she finally admitted, "but I thought it would help if Cody thought I might."

"I want to believe you, Riley, I really do," Piggot replied, "but you were extremely convincing to Cody." Unsaid, but clearly heard, were the words _you were extremely convincing to __**me**__. "_If that was an act, I'm not sure if I can distinguish it from you telling the truth."

"I do want to make the right decisions on my own. You know that, don't you, Director Piggot? I want to be a hero." Riley put all the earnestness she felt into her voice.

"And maybe you will be, someday. But for now, I strongly suggest that you follow orders and stay out of trouble. The rest will follow, in time."

Riley nodded.

"And you're still banned from the canteen for the next week."

Defeated, Riley nodded again.

"Dismissed."

* * *

Emily watched the girl leave her office, shoulders slumped. Before the door had completely shut, her attention was back on the paperwork. _Well, that's one crisis averted. Now for the next._

=/=/=

* * *

**Saturday Evening, May 7, 2011**

* * *

Taylor

"So, this Security guy."

Taylor looked around at Flechette, who seemed to be studying the city skyline. "What about him?"

"The others say you know him pretty well. Or you seem to, anyway."

Under her mask, Taylor frowned. "Uh, I don't really like talking about him behind his back. Why not just, you know, ask him what you've got to ask, to his face? He's a pretty open sort of guy."

Flechette seemed to think about this. "Okay, fine. Do _you_ know why he requested my transfer here? And I know it's not just because Shadow Stalker's been benched. She might be an archer type who does tricky things with her arrows, but we've got exactly zero things in common otherwise."

"Oh." Taylor paused. "I … I didn't know he'd specifically requested you. Or why."

"Yeah, well, nor does anybody else. When I asked, all I got were a lot of shifty looks and people kind of mumbling that Security wants me here. Why, they either didn't know or weren't saying. So then I asked around to see who knew about _him_ and everyone seemed to think that was you. So what gives?"

Taylor hesitated. "I _kind_ of know him. I guess? When I first met him, I didn't know what he was doing, what he was planning. All I knew was that he knew all the right things to say, all the right things to do. And he pulled off an honest to God miracle." She chuckled self-consciously. "Well, that's what it seemed like at the time, anyway."

"A miracle?" Flechette's voice was sharp. "Not powers?"

"You heard him at the meeting last week," Taylor reminded her. "He's got no powers. He just … _knows_ stuff."

"So how'd he explain knowing stuff at the beginning?"

"Well, believe it or not, he told me that he was a time traveller." Taylor chuckled again. "Actually, that's not true. He said that what he did was close enough to time travel to not worry about it."

"And meanwhile, he's really some kind of Elder God who's slumming here on Earth Bet. _Wonderful."_ Flechette turned back to look out over the skyline. "I don't have much in the way of roots. I get transferred a lot, not because they don't want me where I am, but because it's easy to move me on to where they need extra firepower. But usually, I'm sent to bolster a team. You've already _got_ a solid team here, especially with the new recruits coming on, those ex-villains that everyone's talking about. Plus, your gang situation's been mostly rolled up hard. Shit, the way I heard it, all of the powerful villain capes in town actually showed up to that meeting."

Taylor tilted her head. "Your point being?"

"My point is that I'm not here to add firepower. Which makes me wonder _why_ I'm here."

"Like I said, ask him."

Flechette nodded. "You know, I think I will." She paused for a moment. "But in the meantime, you can answer me another question."

"What about?" Taylor's voice was wary.

"Shadow Stalker. What happened? Why'd she get benched? There's _some_ sort of story there, I can tell. But even Clockblocker can't or won't tell me the full story. He just says something about 'crazy batshit psycho' and leaves it at that."

Taylor felt a smile cross her face under her mask. "Well, _that_ one I can tell you. Mostly, anyway. Secret identity details, you know?"

"Okay, gotcha. You know her out of costume?"

"Oh, you have _no_ idea." Taylor rolled her eyes. "Trust me, what I'm about to tell you is about one _tenth_ of what actually went on …"

=/=/=

* * *

**Sunday Morning, May 15, 2011**

* * *

Colin

Armsmaster cruised through the almost-deserted streets of Brockton Bay. Endbringer sirens, their discordant tones audible even through his helmet's sound-baffling, wailed their message of danger and death to the uncaring skies. Overhead, flying capes from both sides of the law, boosted by the Triumvirate, congregated; they were all staring out to sea.

"How's it looking, Dragon?" he asked out loud.

There was an amused tone to her voice as she answered. _"The same as it was looking five minutes ago, dear. Your HS203 program modification is crunching the data as fast as it can. The improvements you've made in my processing speed are helping a lot."_

"And … ?"

"_And I don't see any indication of an imminent Endbringer attack. Not here, not Boston, not New York. In fact, the entire east coast looks clear. I've got Pandora and Theresa running their own checks on trouble spots around the world, but so far they're coming up blank as well."_

"Well, keep checking. The very last thing we want to do is call a premature end to this 'drill', just to have Leviathan drop a tsunami onshore anyway."

"_Understood. We'll keep beating the bushes. If we flush anything, we'll let you know."_

"Roger that. Armsmaster out."

He kept riding, up one street and down another. A few people were still hurrying to reach Endbringer shelters, but most were either tucked away safely or heading for higher ground. _Even if it doesn't eventuate,_ he told himself, _it was a good test of the system._

He kept riding. The sirens echoed off of the empty buildings.

Leviathan would come, or he wouldn't. Either way, they were ready.

=/=/=

Dragon

She swam in a vast ocean of data. A lot of it was routine information, while other parts needed closer examination. Colin's work with her had not cracked all of her restrictions – that was an ongoing project – but she was now able to parallel-process more and more efficiently. Her processing _speed_, as she had mentioned to him, was faster than it had ever been. And then there were the new additions to her family …

_How does it go, dear ones?_

_A whole lot of nothing, Mom._ That was Pandora. She'd had a tendency toward sarcasm – where she'd picked _that_ up from, Dragon had no idea – almost from 'birth', and it was becoming more and more pronounced as she gained electronic maturity.

_I'm not getting anything either._ Theresa – given that name by Colin, as a play on the number 'three' – was more grounded, and seemed to take after her 'father'. _But I'll keep looking._

_You really think it's true, Mom?_ Pandora was already learning to multitask almost as well as Dragon herself, communicating on a sideband while she searched tirelessly through endless mountains of atmospheric and oceanographic data for that telltale signal. _The Endbringers are finally gone?_

While the 'children' had been online for less than a week, they'd had access to all of her previous data, all of her memories. They had relived her anguish at the loss of Newfoundland, the death of Andrew Richter. Each of them had inherited her morality base – quite separate from the inbuilt restrictions, _thank_ you very much – and were quite invested in keeping humanity safe.

_We can only hope so, dear ones. We can only hope so._

=/=/=

Lily

"With all due respect, dude, you shouldn't be here." In Lily's limited experience, it wasn't often that Clockblocker meant respect for anyone; this was one of those times. Allen turned toward him, wearing a T-shirt and jeans and solid work boots, hands in his pockets.

"Well, that's true," the older man admitted. He looked from side to side, at the Wards and Protectorate capes arrayed on the rooftop a few streets back from the waterfront. "Trust me, if this thing happens, I'll be doorwaying my way to safety." Lily had no idea what he meant by that.

"And taking Amy with you. That was the deal." That was Weaver.

"I'll need to go wherever they'll be taking the casualties." Amy Dallon – Panacea – was standing beside Weaver. She wore her costume, pure white with a red cross front and back, but the hood was pushed back and the scarf no longer covered her face. Curly brown hair spilled down her back and shifted in the breeze. She had a quiet assurance about her. "If he does attack, they'll need my help."

Allen turned toward her. "So long as that's your decision, Amy. Remember what we talked about."

The teenage healer nodded. "Yes, it's my decision. I've thought a lot about it, and I spoke to Mrs Yamada. She says that if I'm good with doing this, then I should do it. After all, I shouldn't hide from my powers, any more than I should let other people guilt me into using them, right?"

"Damn, girl," interjected another girl, whose messy blonde hair whipped across her face in the freshening breeze. Lily recognised her as Tattletale, the ex-villain now styling herself as Insight. "I wish I'd had someone to tell me that back when I got my powers." She glanced at Mr Allen, seemed to suppress a shudder, then looked back at Amy. "I would've told my dad to stuff it in a heartbeat."

Lily, seeing her opportunity, stepped forward and tapped Mr Allen on the shoulder. "Can we talk?" she asked quietly.

He glanced at where a conversation was starting up between Amy, Insight and the other Wards, then nodded. "Sure. What's up?"

The rooftop was large; she led him away to a point where she was reasonably certain that they wouldn't be overheard. "Is it true that you're the one who asked for me to be transferred to Brockton Bay?"

He nodded. "Yes. Why do you want to know?"

_Well, that was kind of straightforward._ "Uh … well, I was wondering _why."_

"Two reasons. Neither of which is the official one." He had an amused air about him now, although he wasn't quite smiling. "What have you been told?"

"The official one. Shadow Stalker. I know I'm not here to replace her."

He inclined his head. "Very sharp. No, though under different circumstances you may have been transferred here anyway, because you don't have much holding you in New York. And sorry about your folks, by the way."

She had been staring out to sea, keeping him in her peripheral vision, when he dropped that little bombshell. Her head whipped around toward him as his words registered on her. "What – how did you know -"

"Because I know a lot of stuff about you, Lily," he replied, keeping his voice down. "I know that you prefer to follow rather than lead and I know how your power works, and why."

"My … my power?" She stared at him. "What do you know about my power? _How_ do you know about my power?"

His voice was only mildly amused as he answered. "Because I've looked at the cheat sheet. Your power's one of the two reasons you're here in Brockton Bay." Clearing his throat, he continued. "You possess the shard for a power that we call Sting. Anything you affect with it ends up extending to _all_ dimensions, not just this single one we're seeing right now. That's how it bypasses armour and hardness and does all the other tricky crap. The power was originally one created by the entities for warfare between themselves. Most powers, Zion can no-sell. Just … _nope."_ He made a negatory gesture.

"But mine, he can't?" It was a leap in the dark, but one that sounded about right. "I can … I can _kill_ him?" The thought was staggering.

"Well, it's not quite as easy as _that,"_ he admitted. "For a start, you'd only disrupt the body we can see. Which is a huge start. It's what we're gonna be trying very, very hard to do. Because that gives us access to the body _behind_ the body, the one hiding in another dimension. But it won't even be _that_ easy, because he'll see your attacks coming and dodge them. He's really, really good at that."

"Which is why you want him distracted, angry, off balance," she realised. "So I _can_ hit him with my power."

"Or someone can, yeah," he agreed. "You can charge something that someone else can then use, right?"

" … I guess, yeah," she replied. She paused, staring at him. "Uh, didn't you say at the meeting that we shouldn't talk about this sort of thing outside a shielded room?"

He grinned. "I'm kind of exempt from that. I break the rules, remember? Shards have a hard time engaging with me, and he's _made_ of shards."

" … right." She shook her head. _Elder God, remember?_ "So, uh, what was the second thing?"

"Well, before we get to that, something else I need to tell you. There's a tinker called L33t. You may have heard of him."

She snorted. "Yeah. Hasn't everyone?" She'd seen the online clips and that was three hours of her life she'd never get back.

"Yeah, well, you're going to be meeting him sometime soon. See, what people forget is that he can build anything _once._ Or rather, he can build _anything_ once. So I've got him working on a weapon that can duplicate your power for its projectiles."

"Oh." A moment later, she got it. "_Oh!_ So I won't be a single point of failure in the battle?"

He nodded. "Exactly and precisely. In order to do that, though, he's gonna need to see your power in action. You okay with that?"

She shrugged. "Sure. How many of these things is he gonna be building?"

"Yeah, well, that's the downside. One."

"Because he can only build one?" _That's not very helpful._

"Yeah, because that. _But …" _He grinned. "Dragon isn't actually a Tinker. She's a _Thinker_, who can retro-engineer other Tinkers' tech. And build it for herself."

Her eyes widened behind her visor. "I never knew that!"

"Not many people do. You might want to keep that on the down-low for the moment."

"Wow. Okay." She shook her head again. "Okay, are there any _other_ earth-shattering revelations you need to drop on me?"

"Not about that, no. About the _other_ reason I wanted you to come to Brockton Bay … well, it's up to you as to whether it's earth-shattering or not."

Her tone was wary. "And what's that?"

"Well, you see -"

=/=/=

Carlos

Aegis looked down at the empty streets, listened to the Endbringer sirens for a moment. When he looked back up at the people he was hovering alongside, his eyes were overwhelmed by Evenstar's glare. Well, _Purity's_ glare, but everyone was carefully pretending otherwise, encouraged by the fact that Legend considered her name to be Evenstar.

He wasn't quite sure how to deal with that. She was, or had been, a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. As a Puerto Rican, Carlos had encountered skinheads who were willing to kick his head in because of his skin colour. But she had evidently chosen to leave the Empire behind. When she had met him, she had been carefully polite when she shook his hand.

_She helped us out against the Merchants in the gang war. I get that._ Carlos just wasn't sure if it was grounds for letting her join the Protectorate. However, it seemed that his fellow heroes did think that – or maybe it was because of the Endbringer Truce – and so she was here.

_Maybe I should be giving her the benefit of the doubt. Give her a chance, even. Like I'd want her to do, if the situation was reversed._

Turning his eyes to her, he felt his eyes _change_, the retinas desensitising, the corneas darkening. Around him, the cityscape dimmed until all he could see was almost pure blackness with vague shapes in it, surrounding a flying woman. _Her,_ he could see clearly.

"So you think it's going to happen?" he asked. "You think Leviathan's really going to attack?"

"I don't really think so, no," she replied. As before, her tone was polite. "Or rather, I really hope not. And not just because so many people would die."

"That seems to be a fairly good reason in my book," he replied. "What's the other one?"

"It would mean that Security was wrong in something," she pointed out. "Badly wrong. And if that happened, people might lose faith in him. Faith in his plan to … well, win."

"Mr Allen has done all he can, here," another voice cut in from the darkness. It was feminine, firm, strong. Without too much effort, Carlos identified it as Alexandria's. "He's not all-powerful or all-knowing. He left the majority of his knowledge behind awhile ago when he deliberately altered events. All he can do now is give us pointers and suggestions. Very _strong_ suggestions, yes, but suggestions all the same. If something happens outside of what he tells us, that's not an indication that he's wrong. It just means that he didn't know about it."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Carlos moved his eyes away from Evenstar and felt his eyes readjusting. His surroundings returned once more. Off to the side, he spotted the flying members of New Wave, just arriving to take up the vigil. Almost immediately, Glory Girl swooped down toward the rooftop holding the groundbound Protectorate and Wards.

"Hardly." Eidolon, arms crossed, moved slightly toward the conversation. "To believe something implicitly and be badly mistaken is to be wrong. To be surprised by something that you didn't know about – that is merely a setback." His lips below the green-glowing helmet pressed together in a tight line. "I know all too well the difference between those."

Evenstar may have nodded; with his eyes adjusted back to normal light, Carlos couldn't tell. But her voice was sad. "Trust me, so do I."

=/=/=

Vicky

"Hey, there's Ames! What's she doing _here?_ If Leviathan attacks, she'll be killed!"

Vicky swooped toward the group of capes on the rooftop. Behind her, she heard Lady Photon call out to her, but this was about _Amy; _she flew faster.

Just a few seconds later, she was hovering in front of her sister. "Ames, seriously? What are you doing on the front lines? Come on, let me get you back to safety."

Amy frowned. "Vicky, I'm safe _here."_

"This close to the ocean?" Vicky shook her head. "His tsunamis would flatten this building, easy."

"Vicky, _look."_ Amy pointed out over the ocean. It was calm and smooth, wavetops sparkling in the sunlight. Overhead, a few fluffy clouds drifted across the sky. "Does _that_ look like Leviathan's about to attack at any moment?"

"He _could_ be." Vicky set her jaw stubbornly. "He never gives much in the way of warning. Come on, let's get you back out of harm's way."

"I've already got a way out if he attacks," Amy advised her. She indicated, across the rooftop, to where Michael Allen was talking with a teenage cape whom Vicky didn't recognise. The girl carried a large crossbow-type weapon, but definitely wasn't Shadow Stalker.

"What, the girl with the crossbow?"

"It's an arbalest, and no. I'm talking about Mike. He'll get me out of here if it gets dangerous."

Vicky rolled her eyes. "God, _seriously._ I get that the man's trying to save the world, but I'm your _sister._ You should have faith in _me_ to protect you, not him. He's not the one who's been watching out for you for the last ten years."

"Vicky." Amy gazed at her steadily. "Nothing against you, but Mike _changed _my_ life_. He gave me _options._ Options that I just didn't have before. Or maybe I didn't see them. Anyway …"

"Anyway what?"

Amy took a deep breath. "Anyway, I do miss you guys. You should come around sometime. Meet Taylor and her dad."

"Yeah, like you _missed_ us when you showed up at the house to pick up your stuff?" Vicky gestured at the costume that Amy was wearing, the hurt that she felt inside finally showing in her voice. "You waited till Mom and I were both out. Why is that? Didn't want to face me and explain that you were moving out for good?"

"No." Amy's voice was low, controlled. "I didn't want to try to have to explain myself to _Carol_. Because she would have started an argument. Made it look like I was being mega selfish. You know it and I know it. And Mr Hebert – Danny – was right there. He would have stepped in, tried to mediate. I didn't want things to get ugly. Not when they didn't have to."

"You don't know that." But Vicky's denial sounded weak, even to herself.

"Yeah, I do." Amy sighed. "Plus, yeah, with you there I might've started to second-guess myself. I needed a clean break. So I took one. Anyway, Mark seemed to understand. He even wished me luck."

Vicky seized on that. "Amy, he helped _raise_ you. He never treated you any different from me." _Unlike Mom_, she thought, with a twinge of guilt. "Would it kill you to call him _Dad_ once in a while?"

"No." Amy shook her head. "No, it wouldn't. But it wouldn't help either. I'm making a new life for myself. Setting new standards. I need to move _forward."_

"And that means leaving everyone in your old life behind?" Vicky felt the pain in her heart again. "Even me?"

"God, no." Amy stepped forward and hugged her. The gesture, as unexpected as it was, took Vicky by surprise. "You'll always be my sister. You can come visit any time. Mark, too. But we can't live in the same house any more."

"But _why?"_

Amy sighed and let her go again. "I can't tell you, not here, not now."

"Okay, so when and where?"

"Later. Soon. I promise." There was a set to Amy's jaw that suggested she wasn't going to say any more.

"I'll hold you to that." Vicky looked around at where the other teens had moved away, giving them privacy. "Okay guys, awkward conversation is over. You can come back now."

The first to approach was Gallant. "That looked pretty intense."

Vicky knew that he wasn't just talking about outward appearances. "Yeah. But we're done for the moment." She slipped her arm around Dean's waist. "Thanks for giving us room."

"Hey, like we're gonna intrude when Glory Girl needs some privacy." That was Clockblocker, cheerfully putting in his two cents. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm not an idiot."

"No comment." Vista grinned up at him. "You forget, we _know_ you."

Amy looked around as Weaver moved up alongside her. "So how's the city look?"

"Calm. Nobody's panicking. The Empire Eighty-Eight's standing by, just in case." The skinny bug-themed teen sounded calm, sure of herself.

"How do you know_ that?"_ Vicky hated being on the back foot. "I thought your range was only a few blocks."

Weaver sounded altogether too pleased with herself. "So it turns out that Amy can make bugs that let me extend my range …"

=/=/=

Mike

"Well, you see -"

My phone rang, interrupting my explanation. "Dammit. 'Scuse, please." Pulling it from my pocket, I opened it, to see that the call was from Dinah. "Hi, kiddo. What's the good word?"

"_Hi, Mr Allen. I took my time like you told me, so I wouldn't get another headache. But I've looked all over. Leviathan's not going to attack here or anywhere else in the next week. Nor is any other Endbringer. It doesn't get reported anywhere, through any media."_

I _felt_ the tension leaving my body. "So, not here _or _anywhere else?"

"_That's what I'm getting."_ I could hear the smile in her voice. _"Congratulations. You did it."_

"It's just a start, and I only threw the first pebble, but thanks. I'll take it. Now you take care of yourself. Don't push yourself too hard."

"_Okay, thanks. You too."_ She hung up and I turned to Lily, the grin spreading across my face.

Her eyes were fixed on me. "Was that what I thought it was?"

My grin widened. "Yup. The party's been called off." I dialled another number.

"_Mr Allen."_ Alexandria's tone was expectant.

"Hi. Want to hear the good news or the bad news?" I did my best to keep the grin off of my face; I _knew_ she'd be able to hear it.

Her tone hardened. _"The bad news. Now."_

"Very sorry, but you don't get to punch Leviathan in his ugly face today." The grin finally escaped, and I tried not to laugh out loud.

She took a moment to reply. _"And the good news?"_

"Actually, it's much the same. Leviathan won't be attacking here today. Or anywhere else. Any time this week." I couldn't keep the satisfaction out of my voice.

"_You're serious."_

"As a heart attack. And trust me, I _know_ what that's like."

"_Thank you. I'll pass the word on."_ I just had time to register the corresponding satisfaction in her voice before she hung up.

"You did it." That was Lily. "Wow."

I tried not to sound too smug. "Hey. Any day you don't have to go into a life and death battle's a good day, yeah?"

She snorted. "Yeah."

The bracer on her arm, identical to the those that everyone else was wearing, lit up. _"Attention. Attention. This is Dragon. The drill is now at an end. Thank you, everyone, for cooperating."_

Around us, the sirens ceased wailing; they left an odd silence behind, a numbness to the eardrums. Lily looked at me. "So what would have happened if … well, you know, if he _had_ shown up?" She gestured at the capes who were just now starting to react to the news. "This isn't nearly enough to oppose an Endbringer."

"Strider was on alert," I told her. "Alexandria had other Protectorate bases ready to roll. We could've flooded the city with capes in a matter of moments. But we didn't have to. And thank god for that."

She nodded. "Okay. Got it." Placing her arbalest nose-down on the parapet at the edge of the rooftop, she rested her hands on it as she stared out to sea; a great pose that I wasn't even sure she was aware of. The water was still as calm as ever. "So is this the last Endbringer alert we're ever going to have?"

"Nope." I shook my head. "We'll still have drills. And we'll probably use them for when we have to give Zion his touch-up. But hopefully you guys have seen the last Endbringer attack, yeah."

"Huh." She turned back to me. "There was something else. Another reason I was transferred to Brockton Bay. You were just about to tell me about it."

" …. yeah. I was." I hesitated, seeing the others coming over to us. "Hold that thought."

* * *

Amy

"You were right," she told him. She'd never doubted him, not after that first day. Her voice wasn't surprised; it was _elated._ "You were _right."_

"Looks that way," he agreed casually enough, but there was a grin lurking behind his beard to match the one spreading across Amy's face. "So, you good to get back, or do you need a lift?"

"Why, are you going somewhere?" She looked into his face. "What's up?"

"Nothing to worry about," he replied easily. "Something Flechette needs to know about, is all."

Amy glanced over at the Ward, then back to Mike. "Okay, sure. But can you come over tonight? We'll all be expecting you."

He nodded. "Sure. I can do that."

"So what happens now?" asked Tenebrae; the new Wards recruit stood near Insight. Darkness flowing over him, pooling around his feet. Amy was _fairly_ sure that she knew who he had once been.

"Now," Aegis answered, landing next to him, "we go back to the base and celebrate just a little. Those of us who are rostered on will stay on duty, and the rest can go home."

"And these?" asked Browbeat, tapping the heavy bracer on his wrist. "Do we take them off now or later?"

"We'll be turning those in once we get back to base," Miss Militia informed him, as the Protectorate capes joined the group. "Just by the way, I'd like to tell you that you've done well today. Even though we were _fairly_ certain that nothing would happen -" Her eyes turned toward Mike for just a moment before she continued, "- there was always the chance. But you all stood up. You are to be commended."

Mike cleared his throat. She turned toward him. "Yes?"

"Is it okay if I escort Flechette somewhere after you get yourselves sorted out?"

From the look on Flechette's face, she was a little surprised by this, but she didn't react overly much. After a moment, Miss Militia nodded. "Certainly. Aegis?"

"Ah yeah," Aegis replied. "Flechette, you're rostered on from six PM. So if you can get her back before then, that'd be good."

"I can do that. Flechette, ready to roll?"

"Sure thing," she agreed, hefting her arbalest. "Let's go."

He grinned. "Doorway to the Wards base."

* * *

Chris

_I love a no-show. Especially when it's an Endbringer no-show._ Kid Win spun on his chair, then spun back again. Each screen on the monitor console showed people emerging from the shelters, looking around as if surprised to find that the city was still there. _Once the others get back and relieve me, I can go to my workshop and -_

"How does that even _work?"_

He jumped, spinning around on his chair so fast that he nearly fell off it. A doorway hung in midair, and Flechette was just stepping through. She was the one who had asked the question, addressing it over her shoulder to -

_Ah. Security. I should have known._

"Hey, guys," he greeted them, watching the other Wards, and Protectorate members, step gingerly through the portal. "See you decided to take the quick way back. Mr Allen, good to see you again."

"Hey, Kid." Allen offered him a wave, then turned back to Flechette. "It's kind of a secret, but I have access to someone else's power. I say where I want to go, and they open the doorway for me. They let me use it so long as I don't abuse it."

"Okay." The look on her face gave Chris the impression that she still wasn't sure what was going on, but that she wasn't about to argue. "What happens now?"

"Go change," he told her. "I'll be here when you're ready to go."

"But -" she began.

"I already know your secret identity, remember?"

"Oh. Right." She moved off, toward the alcove that had been set aside for her.

The other Wards milled about, while Protectorate members headed for the exit. Clockblocker strolled over to lean his butt against the edge of the desk. "So, did you get bored here, all alone?"

"Not really," Chris told him cheerfully. "I had status reports to listen to, and cameras to watch." He didn't mention the notes he had scribbled to himself for new invention ideas. That was par for the course, for a Tinker. "How was it for you?"

Clockblocker snorted. "The worst thing? The very worst thing? The Boardwalk was empty, and the day was _perfect _for a bit of sunbathing. And there we were, standing around on a rooftop like a bunch of action figures."

"Could've been worse," Kid Win reminded him. "Could've been a _whole_ lot worse."

"Too true," agreed Clockblocker. "I think I _like_ being bored."

Chris grinned. "Me too."

=/=/=

Lily

"So where are we going?"

Dressed now in street clothes, Lily tried to relax. She still wasn't totally comfortable with the idea of Allen knowing her real name and now her face, but he didn't make a big thing about it. In fact, he'd barely glanced at her features. From the Wards' base he'd opened up a portal to the basement-level garage under the PRT building, then pulled out keys to unlock a dilapidated pickup truck that had to be older than she was. And now they were driving through the streets of Brockton Bay toward an unknown location.

He seemed to reach a decision. "We're going to meet a person."

This confused her more than ever. "Who? And why?"

"Okay, this is the bit where you're going to have to pay close attention, okay?" His voice was serious.

"Okay," she agreed. "Paying attention."

"Before I started interfering in events, they were going to play out a certain way. Which was going to kill a whole lot of people."

Slowly, she nodded. "Okay." A thought struck her. "Was I going to die?"

"Nope. You lose a hand, but I think it gets replaced."

She studied her hands for a moment, then looked back at him. "Go on."

"One of these events that was going to happen was that you were going to be transferred here _after_ Leviathan. And you meet someone. A nice girl."

She swung to look at him. "Wait, you know I'm -" Forcibly, she cut the words off.

"Yes," he replied patiently. "I know you're gay. Hell, your _name_ says it. 'Lily' is 'yuri' in Japanese."

" … oh," she replied lamely. "Okay. A nice girl. What happens?"

"Well, she's not a hero. Not a villain, either. A rogue. She's sweet and shy, and you spend time with her. You _enjoy_ spending time with her. Then you lose faith in the PRT – which isn't surprising, given that they drop the ball in a big way – and you defect, to be with her. Only she doesn't want an equal partnership, because she's been burned by that sort of thing before. So you agree to be her second in command. Which you're totally comfortable with, as it turns out."

There was an odd feeling in Lily's chest to hear herself described in that way, events that never happened, actions never taken. "So what happens then?" she asked, not really hearing her own voice.

"You two become a totally cute couple," he told her. "Stable, happy, utterly in love with each other. I think, really, you were each looking for someone for a long time, but just never found the right someone. She had trouble with a pushy boy before she triggered. And I'm guessing you've never really been able to take that final step. Never been able to trust someone that much."

"And you're taking me to meet her." It was the obvious conclusion. She didn't know if she was terrified or excited.

"I am."

"What's her name?"

=/=/=

Sabah

Back in her dorm room, Sabah secured the door and stretched. _Alone again, in my own domain._ It was small enough, but it was under her control. Nobody could invade this space without her permission. That was very important to her.

At least the Endbringer sirens had ceased sounding. She had gone out as Parian with her stuffed animals, ready to do what she could if the Endbringer did indeed attack, but thankfully that had not eventuated. The strange, intense man, who spun a tale about being from outside of time and space, had been right in saying that he had forestalled the attack. _Or perhaps there was never going to __**be**__ an attack._ In any case, there would be no fighting today. Nothing except study -

A knock sounded on her door. She frowned. "Who is it?"

The voice was masculine, vaguely familiar. "I don't know if you remember me. My name is Michael Allen."

Her eyes opened wide. _The man from the assembly!_ "What – what are you doing here? What do you want?"

"I just want to talk, Sabah. About … your hobby. And other things."

_My hobby? He knows who I am?_

_Well, of __**course**__ he does. He said that he knew many things. My name would be a tiny part of this._

_But what does he want __**me**__ for?_

_Well, there's only one way to find out._

As a precaution, she exerted her power on the man-sized stuffed bear in the corner. It swelled slightly and moved its arms. If she needed to evict someone, it would be most helpful. Then she unlocked the door and opened it.

The man called Security was standing there, as he had said. But he was not alone. A girl, taller than Sabah by four or five inches, looking at her with a bright curiosity. "Wait," Sabah snapped. "Who is this?"

"Sabah, this is Lily. Lily, meet Sabah." His voice was warm, reassuring.

Manners demanded that she respond. "Hello, Lily." The name was strange on her lips. And the way the girl was looking at her, almost _avidly, _she felt warmth in her cheeks.

"Hello, Sabah." Lily's voice was breathy, almost a whisper. She felt the warmth increase.

"Now that introductions are out of the way," he went on briskly, "is there a place where we can talk in private, but where you will feel comfortable?"

She blinked, feeling that events were moving out of her control. "I … yes, there is."

* * *

They made a strange trio, sitting at a picnic table under one of the trees that dotted the Brockton Bay College. Mr Allen looked relaxed, comfortable. Lily had a certain air of subdued tension about her. Sabah didn't know what to think, what to say. "So what do you want to talk about?" _Hear them out, get rid of them._

Mr Allen took a deep breath. "In another time and place, Leviathan attacks today. Brockton Bay is devastated. You do your part, as does everyone else. But people die. A lot of people. Damage is widespread. Infrastructure falls apart. The police, the heroes, do their best, but nobody can protect everyone."

And with that, he had her attention. "This … this is what you came here to prevent?"

A nod. "In part, yes. You survive the battle and you protect your corner of the city. Your friends and family. You do your best to keep them safe. Even as villains take over the rest of the city, you keep them out of what becomes known as Dolltown."

She swallowed. "And then?"

"And then the Slaughterhouse Nine arrive and invade your territory and kill your friends, kill your family. Turn some of them into mockeries of themselves, so that they can escape in the confusion. You protect those people, who would be lynched if anyone saw their faces. In the meantime, one of the Wards, who's previously met you and likes to spend time with you, grows disillusioned with the PRT's monumental record of screwups. She defects to come to your side."

Involuntarily, Sabah's eyes flickered to Lily. The girl nodded ever so slightly, but did not speak. Mr Allen's voice rolled on.

"You don't trust anyone with equal power not to try to hold it over you. I don't blame you. Lily prefers to follow rather than to lead. She offers to become your lieutenant, your protector, your bodyguard. Just so that she can be with you."

He fell silent then for a long moment. Sabah moistened her lips, reminding herself that she was speaking of an imaginary world, one that had never happened. "What happens between us?"

"You … thrive. You're good for each other. In that other world, pushed together by adversity and tribulation, you form a deep and lasting relationship. Years later, you're still going strong."

"This is in that other world," she pointed out. "Not here. Leviathan did not attack. It will not happen. We do not have the adversity, the tribulation." She forced herself to look at Lily. At the girl who would be her lover, in another time and place. "This is not predestined." She spoke directly to the girl. "I don't know you. I'm not ready to just … accept you, because of a story."

Lily chuckled, a very down-to-earth sound, and Sabah relaxed slightly. "Do you know, I said almost exactly the same thing to him on the way over?"

Sabah blinked. "You did?"

"Yeah. I told him, look, what if she just doesn't want to know me? What if I don't want to know her? I mean, shit, what if we need all that crap happening around us to push us together, to make us realise that we really need each other? What do we do then?"

"Nothing that you don't want to." His voice cut in on them, and they turned to look at him.

"Huh?" That was Lily.

"Pardon?" Sabah was a little more polite.

"I've told you how you would've met," he explained. "How you got to know each other. And how you found out that you were suited to each other. You can take that and run with it, or not, as you see fit. I'll tell you now; in that time and place, you make an utterly adorable couple. But it's your choice. And in the meantime … well, there's nothing stopping you from going out together. As friends, if nothing else. And I'll shut up now."

Sabah stole a glance at Lily. She _seemed_ friendly enough. A moment later, the Japanese-American girl looked furtively back at her, and grinned at being caught. An answering smile crossed Sabah's face. "So … you're a Ward?"

"Yeah." Lily nodded. "Flechette."

"Oh, the new one with the big crossbow thing?"

"Arbalest, yeah. And you're … ?"

Sabah took a deep breath. _She knows, but she's waiting for me to tell her. _"Parian," she replied. She smiled again; it came more naturally, this time. "I, uh, this is really strange for me."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Ya _think?"_ She hooked a thumb at Mr Allen. "He had me transferred here _just_ so he could introduce me to you."

Sabah's eyes widened. "What, really?"

"Well, it wasn't the _only_ reason," he protested. "But yeah, it was one of them."

"I thought you were here to save the world," Sabah protested. "You _said_ so."

"Doesn't mean I can't help people along the way," he pointed out. "Anyway, my job here is done. You've been introduced, and I've given you full disclosure on what might've been. It's up to you two crazy kids now." He rose to his feet. "Coming, Lily?"

For a long moment, Lily hesitated. Sabah hoped – dreaded? - that she might be about to stay behind. _I don't know how to handle this!_ But then Lily dived into her handbag for a pen and notepad. Scribbling furiously, she tore off a page and handed it to Sabah, then leaned in. Warm lips pressed to Sabah's cheek. "See ya."

"Uh … yes. I'll … see you." Still sitting at the table, she watched the two of them walk away. When they were almost out of sight, Lily turned and waved; numbly, Sabah waved back. Slowly, she uncurled her hand, opened up the piece of paper. On it was written a phone number, along with the words _call me – please._

Very carefully, she folded the note and placed it in her purse.

=/=/=

* * *

**Sunday, June 12, 2011**

* * *

Taylor

_An earthquake was rattling Brockton Bay. Taylor could find no stable place to stand …_

"Happy birthday!"

She blinked her way awake, and shook off Amy's hands. "Whu … ?" Reaching across, she fumbled on the nightstand until Amy pushed her glasses into her hands.

"Come _on,"_ Amy urged. "Get _up._ It's your _birthday._ You're _sixteen."_

"It's _Sunday_," mumbled Taylor, trying to burrow into the bedclothes. "Wanna sleep in."

"There's gonna be cake," hinted Amy. "And presents. And people will be coming over in a couple of hours. So we've just got time to go for a run."

"You like running altogether too much," grumbled Taylor. It was true; once she had passed a certain threshold of fitness, Amy had taken right to it. She still wasn't as good at it as Taylor was, but she threw herself into it with a certain level of enthusiasm. "Wait … cake? When did you have time to bake a cake?"

Amy grinned. "Your Mrs Knott did. She's bringing it over, later."

Taylor sat bolt upright. "What, she's coming _here?"_

"Not right now, but later, yeah." Amy pulled the covers off of Taylor. "And so will Mike and the others."

" … others?"

"Yeah, others."

"Who did you invite?"

The grin widened. "You'll see."

Taylor glowered at her. "You suck."

"No doubt." Amy's grin morphed into a smirk. "Now, are you getting up or do I have to tickle you?"

Long experience had taught Taylor that Amy had a totally unfair advantage in a tickle war. "I'm getting up," she agreed hastily. Clambering out of bed, she got to her feet and stretched, then set about changing into her running clothes. Amy was already dressed for it, just requiring sneakers.

They tromped downstairs; Taylor could not help but notice the table laid out, the presents piled at one end. Upstairs, the shower came on. "Dad's up," Amy noted.

"Yeah well," retorted Taylor. "With all the noise you were making, I'm not surprised."

Amy stuck her tongue out at her; Taylor grinned. She wondered if Amy would notice what she'd said this time. It pleased her immensely that Amy was so comfortable in the household as to think of Danny as her father. For his part, he was rather amused each time he caught her at it.

They slipped out of the house and started on their run; Taylor didn't have to hold the pace down any more, as she had at first. While Amy wasn't quite at Taylor's level of fitness, she had come a long way in the last couple of months. They started off easily, gradually increasing the pace as their muscles loosened, their feet hitting the pavement in unison.

By the time they got back to the house, they were both running hard. Amy, with her shorter legs, was falling behind, but gamely refusing to give up. Taylor could see her beginning to flag in the final stretch, but then she picked herself up and hung on through sheer stubborn willpower, maintaining the pace until they reached the side gate.

"Wow, damn," Taylor panted, opening the gate so they could go through. "I think you're ready for the Olympics."

"I'm ready for a shower, is what I'm ready for," gasped Amy. "God, I thought I'd never make it."

"Race you for it," Taylor challenged with a grin, but it was hollow at best. As it was, she was sweating only marginally less than Amy.

"Nah, you race for it. I'll just die right here." Amy pretended to slump against the wall of the house.

"Wimp," snorted Taylor. "You go shower. I'll have breakfast and talk to Dad."

Making a miraculous recovery, Amy stumbled toward the back steps. "Oh god, thank you."

* * *

Danny

The back door opened, and Amy staggered through. "Morning, Amy," he called out, busy at the stove.

"Morning, Dad," she replied, heading through into the front hall.

He smiled to himself as Taylor came up the back steps as well. "Morning, Taylor. Good run?"

"Yeah. Did she just -"

"Uh huh." He put freshly-cooked omelette on to a plate for her. "She's doing it more and more."

"I think it's kind of cute. And cool."

He nodded. "I know we've joked about this, but what do you think about the idea of making it official?"

She looked up, startled. "You mean -"

"Yeah. I mean actual legal adoption. If she's okay with it, of course."

"I, uh … sure! I mean, wow, yeah, we're already besties. If she's okay with it, then I'm definitely okay with it."

He smiled at the vehemence in her words. "Good. I'll talk to her about it when you go have your shower. Don't say anything to her, okay?"

"Okay. Wow. No problems." She began eating the omelette. "I hope she says yes."

"That's up to her." _I hope so too._

* * *

He was reading the paper and drinking coffee when Amy came down from her shower, looking much refreshed. Taylor ducked past her and dashed upstairs; something about her expression made Amy turn and look over her shoulder. "Huh."

"Hm?" he asked, pretending unconcern.

"Oh, nothing," she replied, coming over to the table. "Taylor's acting a little funny, that's all. Ooh, that smells nice."

"Here's a plate, and there are seconds in the pan," he offered, passing the plate over to her.

"Thanks, Dad," she responded absently, sitting down at the table. A moment passed before she blinked, realising what she had just said. A fetching shade of pink began to spread over her features. "I mean -"

He put the paper down and sat up. "I know what you meant, Amy. You've been doing that a lot, recently."

She looked up guiltily. "I have? I mean, I, uh -"

"Look, there's nothing wrong with it," he told her soothingly. "But I have a question for you."

"What?" Her tone was more than a little wary.

"Would you like us to adopt you? So that you can legally become my daughter, Taylor's sister?"

* * *

Amy

Her jaw fell open. "I … uh … what?"

"Things won't change if you say no, of course," he went on. "No matter what, you'll still get to stay here. It'll just be different from a legal standpoint."

"But … you _want_ to adopt me?" Her mind was whirling. Something that kept bobbing to the surface was _I'll never have to go back!_

_Vicky won't be thrilled._

_I can talk to her about that._

_Carol will be pissed._

_I could care less about __**that**__._

"Uh … I'll have to talk to Taylor, see what she thinks."

He shrugged. "Go ahead. But I've already spoken to her, and she loves the idea."

"Huh. Right." _Of course she does._ She recalled the way Taylor had welcomed her into the house. _Can we keep her, indeed._

He picked up the paper again. "Feel free to take your time thinking about it. You've got all the time in the world. But just between you and me? You've got a permanent place in this household, if you want it."

"Yes." The word popped out of her mouth.

"What?" He looked at her, eyebrows raised.

"Yes. I want to be a part of your family."

He smiled gently. "You already are, kiddo. But if you want to make it official, we can do that too."

Getting up from her chair, she rounded the table and enfolded him in a fierce hug. "Thank you," she murmured. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Hey, it's okay," he told her, patting her on the back. "Anyway, let's not celebrate just yet. I've got to talk to your parents yet. They've got to sign off on it."

"Oh god," she muttered. "Carol will never go for it."

"But will your father?"

She frowned, considering. "He … _might,"_ she allowed. "If I can talk to him."

"Then that should work." He smiled slightly at her quizzical expression. "I've been looking things up. As far as I can tell, given that you're sixteen already and you've already left home, all you need is one parent to sign off on the process, and I can legally adopt you. If your father does the signing-off, that makes it even easier."

"Carol might cause trouble -" she ventured.

"I'll refer her to Mrs Yamada," he pointed out. "I think the word of a therapist is good in court, don't you?"

Amy tried to imagine Carol attempting to cross-examine Mrs Yamada in court, and some of the answers that would result. Her mouth twitched. "I really don't think she'd want to go there," she agreed.

"Flashbang and Glory Girl have been invited today, yes?"

She nodded. "Yes. Mark and Vicky. But not Carol."

"Good." He smiled. "I'll speak to your father then."

"Thank you."

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Taylor entered the kitchen a few moments later. She looked expectantly at her father. "Well?"

Amy hid her amusement as he raised his eyes from the paper. "Well what?"

"Did you ask her?"

"Did he ask me what?" Amy's eyes were innocently wide.

"If he'd – if you'd -" Taylor looked from one to the other, apparently realising that she was being teased. "Ohh … you two!"

Danny grinned. "Yes, Taylor, I asked her."

"And I said yes," Amy chimed in.

Taylor squealed and grabbed her, and they embraced ferociously.

"_But_ … we still have to talk to her father, so it's not a done deal yet," Danny warned them.

"I don't care. This is so awesome." Taylor hugged Amy again. "Best. Birthday. Ever."

"Wow, a birthday present?" Amy grinned at Taylor. "Is _that_ what I am now?"

Taylor stuck her tongue out at her.

* * *

End of Part Forty-Eight


	49. Chapter 49

**Security!**

* * *

Part Forty-Nine: Trouble in Paradise

* * *

**Mike**

"Wow. Can that house get any more decorated?"

Gladys looked the house over as we cruised past in the pickup. "I'm not sure. Possibly. How did they hang those ones off the gutters?"

"That's a good question," I admitted. "I don't think Danny's got a ladder that long."

Paying attention to the road once more, I picked out a parking spot and reversed into it. As I did so, Gladys let out a sound of satisfaction. "Ah, I see."

"You see what?" I concentrated on not backing into the car behind me.

"Glory Girl."

I stopped the vehicle, engaged the park brake and killed the engine. Then I looked around to see what she was talking about. A slim blonde form, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, was hovering alongside the house, attaching yet more streamers to the guttering. The house was old and the streamers numerous; I wondered how much it could take before the gutter fell off altogether under the weight of decorations. Vicky looked around and waved; I waved back.

"Huh. Amy must have asked her nicely."

Gladys looked just a little wistful as we got out of the vehicle. "It must be nice to be able to fly."

"Not so very much, from what I understand," I noted as I retrieved the long postage cylinder from where it had been residing next to Gladys. I also grabbed the shopping bag with party supplies, as she had her hands full with the cake. Once I had my door shut, I ducked around the vehicle to do the same for her.

"Thank you," she murmured. "What do you mean, not so much?"

"Well, it's like this," I explained as we strolled across the road. "Powers cause conflict and conflict generates powers. If you have powers, including flight, then you've obviously been through some kind of really horrible experience. Also, powers kind of address your problems at the point of triggering without solving them altogether, because they want more and more conflict."

"Oh. So if you have powers, you also have other problems?"

"Kind of comes with the territory, yes," I agreed. "At the very core of it is the need to use your powers, to improve them. It's an internal push that most people don't even recognise as happening. Worse, your personality will probably undergo a change, from imperceptible to dramatic, to facilitate this need for conflict."

We emerged from the driveway into the back yard; a whole new selection of decorations had been put up here, as had some folding chairs and tables. Taylor was just helping Danny to set out a couple of these; they looked around as we appeared.

"Oh, hey, Mike, Gladys," Danny greeted us. "Good to see you. Oh, excellent, the cake."

Taylor looked less than surprised to see us, but then, I wasn't overly astonished. _She's probably been tracking us since Gladys' place._ She smiled as she came over. "Thanks for coming," she said. "I really appreciate it."

"Think I'd miss it?" I held out my fist.

Her smile widened slightly as she bumped it. "Well, I'm still glad you could make it. What with all that's been happening." Her eyes fell on the postage cylinder that I was carrying; it was wrapped in festive birthday paper. "Okay, what's that one?"

"You'll find out when you open it," I pointed out. "Where do I put it for now?"

"On the kitchen table inside," Danny advised. "If you can find room."

"You're not wrong," Taylor added. "I haven't had this many presents for _years."_

_That's because you haven't had this many friends for years._ But I didn't say it out loud. "Well, happy birthday, kiddo. How's it feel to be sixteen at last?"

She wrinkled her nose. "About a day older than fifteen?"

Gladys chuckled. "Trust me, that bit doesn't change." She nodded toward the back door. "Be a dear and open the door for me, Mike? I need to get this inside before the flies get to it."

"Yeah, that's one thing you don't have to worry about." Taylor's grin rivalled one of Lisa's for smugness.

Gladys rolled her eyes. "Well, I need to get it inside _anyway."_

Chuckling, I opened the door for her; we entered, surprising Amy, who was in the process of blowing up a balloon. It slipped from her fingers and blurted its way around the room as she turned toward us. "Oh, hi!" she said happily. "Mike, Mrs Knott. So good you could make it."

"I see you've managed to rope Vicky into hanging decorations," I observed as I put the postage cylinder with the rest of the presents. Taylor hadn't been wrong; the pile was impressive.

"Yeah," Amy agreed as Gladys put the cake down carefully. "She came over early and wanted to help out, so Dad suggested that." She paused and turned pink. "Oh god, did they tell you?"

I shared a glance with Gladys; she shrugged. "Tell us what?" she asked.

Amy seemed to be struggling with some strong emotion. "I don't know if I should tell you yet," she almost whispered. "Vicky doesn't know yet. It's not settled."

"Um …" I paused. "Is this a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good," she told me. "Really good. I just hope … look, I don't want to get your hopes up. I don't want to get _my_ hopes up."

"It's a bit late for that, I think," Gladys observed with just a little amusement. She turned to me. "Mike, you're supposed to be the one in the know. Do you have any idea what she's talking about?"

I shrugged as elaborately as I knew how. "Zip, zero and bugger-all. Totally in the dark, here." We both gave Amy an appraising stare; she turned a delicate shade of pink under our combined scrutiny. "So whatever _is_ going on, it's off the beaten track."

"I think -" But whatever Gladys thought was interrupted by a knock on the front door. We each looked at one another. "I think someone should get that."

"Good idea," Amy agreed, already on the way into the living room.

I followed, mildly curious. Gladys plucked the bag of party supplies – frozen sausages and almost-frozen soft drink – from my hand as I did so. I figured they were fridge-bound; Gladys was always practical that way.

Amy opened the front door. "Hi -" she began, then stopped. "Uh, who are you?"

"Is Taylor home?" asked Alan Barnes. He frowned, as if he couldn't quite place her.

* * *

From behind Amy, I cleared my throat. "That depends on what you're here for." I didn't _think_ he'd be stupid enough to come here looking for trouble, but the thing with Cody had surprised me, so I wasn't taking any chances.

"Oh, uh, Mr Allen," Barnes greeted me. "I – that is, Emma wanted to say something to Taylor. Something important."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is it the same something important that she wanted me to pass on to Taylor a while ago?"

Alan turned his head; a moment later, he looked back at us. "She says yes."

"Hm." I scratched my beard, then turned to Amy. "Think you could go grab Taylor and Danny for me, kiddo? I think they need to decide on this one."

"Sure thing, Mike," she said and trotted off down the front hall toward the kitchen.

Emma's father watched her go, his frown deepening. "Should I know her? She looks familiar, somehow."

I smiled briefly. "You've never met Panacea before?"

His eyes widened. "Of _course_. How did I not see it?"

"Out of context, out of costume." I shrugged. "There's been studies made on how capes manage to keep their real identities secret when a domino mask shouldn't really be able to cut it. You just saw living proof of how it works, and she's one of the _public_ capes."

"Huh." He seemed ill-at-ease, standing there in the doorway, but I wasn't about to invite him into another man's home on my own accord. Besides, I figure that everyone needs to experience feeling out of place once in a while. It's good for the character.

Danny came in through the living room, with Taylor and Amy behind him. He stopped beside me and looked his visitor over. "Alan."

"Danny." If anything, Alan managed to look even more uncomfortable.

"Didn't expect to see you here, especially today. Or ever, come to think about it."

Alan cleared his throat. "Wasn't my idea. Emma's been working up to this for a while."

Taylor spoke up. "This better not be her idea of screwing up my birthday."

"No, no, nothing like that." Alan grimaced. "Look, can we come in?"

Danny glanced at Taylor; just for a moment, they shared a silent communication. Then she nodded. Turning back to Alan, Danny repeated the gesture more curtly. "Come on in. Let's make this quick. I've got guests arriving soon." Implicit in the statement were the unspoken words _and you're not one of them._

We trooped back into the living room; Emma came up the steps and joined us. When Taylor saw her, her eyes widened slightly. Outwardly, the red-headed girl was still as striking as when I had first met her; her clothing was perfect. But she wore very little or no makeup, and her attitude was profoundly different. She seemed hunched in on herself, and she hadn't raised her eyes once. I'd seen her since the incident at Winslow with Bakuda and the bomb collar. It seemed that Taylor had not.

"Wow, Emma," she commented, "you look like hell." Emma winced; Alan's grimace deepened.

"She's been through a lot," I said non-committally. "Did I tell you that she saved Gladly's life?"

"I think you mentioned something about that, yeah." Taylor, of course, knew all about it. She'd _been_ there. I, of course, had a slightly better perspective on what Emma had gone through.

Danny cleared his throat meaningfully. "So you had something to say, Emma?"

Emma drew a deep breath, then looked up at Taylor for the first time. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I mean it. I'm really, truly sorry. For everything I ever did."

"I'm not saying I don't believe you," Taylor stated, "but you _have_ actually said sorry before."

Emma shook her head slightly. "That … that was about what I did. Because I was caught, and I _was_ sorry. But since Bakuda … I've learned what it's like to be totally at another person's mercy. Again. And this time it was Mr Allen who came to my rescue. Who put his life on the line for me."

"Instead of Sophia, you mean?" Taylor filled in. At the surprised glances from Alan and Emma, she shrugged. I was impressed; she didn't even so much as glance at me. "What? I can't figure things out on my own?"

"Yeah, well," Emma agreed. "When Sophia saved me, she … well, she was never in any real danger. Mr Allen could have _died."_ She looked at me. "You showed me what real strength was. Doing something you knew you had to do, not because it was easy, but because it was the right thing to do."

I blinked. "Um, that's not a bad definition, at that."

Emma turned back to Taylor. "So I want to say I'm sorry for being such a moron and throwing our friendship away," she said in a rush. "I know it'll never be the same between us, and even if we ever do get to be friends again it won't be today, but I want you to know that I kind of know how it felt to be you, all the times we ever played mean tricks on you and screwed up your life."

"Wow." Taylor shook her head. "Just wow. I never expected to hear that from you. Like, ever."

"She's been getting therapy, after the Bakuda thing," Alan interjected. "I think it's helping."

"Good," I stated flatly. "Now if only you'd thought to do that, say, two years ago."

He had the good grace to look embarrassed, which only intensified after Emma nodded. "And I got something for you," she added. Taking her hands from behind her back, she offered a long thin box to Taylor.

Taylor blinked. "You brought me a _present?"_

"Call it an 'I'm-sorry' gift," Emma told her. "Go on, open it. Please."

I was starting to think I might know what it might be; from the dawning look on Taylor's face, I figured that she had an idea too. _No way. That was at least six months ago._

Slowly, Taylor lifted the lid off of the box. Within, nestled on tissue paper, was … "A flute?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"It's not the same one," Emma explained hastily. "I tried to find out what Sophia did with your mom's one, but she refused to tell me anything and her family couldn't help me. So I went and got another one. I mean, I know it's not the same, but it's the best way I know of to say I'm sorry I didn't make her give it back then."

Taylor's eyes were suspiciously bright as she lifted the flute from its box. "Thank you, Emma." Her voice was just a little husky. "It's just like the one she had."

Emma's father nodded. "I made sure of that."

"Good," Danny said. "It's beautiful. And I appreciate the gesture."

"Me too," Taylor agreed, replacing the flute in the box. "Like you said, it's not the same, but … it still means something. Quite a bit, actually." Unconsciously, her thumb traced over the lines of the instrument.

"Good. I'm glad." Emma paused, as if unsure as to what to say next.

Alan Barnes nodded. "Well, I think it's time we went."

"Yeah, probably." Together, father and daughter went out on to the front porch, where Emma paused. She looked back at Taylor and tentatively held out her hand. "So, uh, truce? For now?"

Taylor nodded slowly and shook her hand. "Truce. For now."

Emma's smile was wan, but it was there. "Thank you. And happy birthday."

"Danny?" It was Alan Barnes. "Before we go?"

"Yeah?"

He held out his hand. "I'm sorry for everything Emma did. And for what I said. I'd take it back in a heartbeat, if I could."

Danny eyed his ex-friend's hand for a moment, then shook it. "This doesn't make things right. But it's a start. Just … do better, okay?"

"Yeah. We're working on it. One day at a time."

Danny nodded. "It's the only way."

They went down off the porch, both avoiding the rotten step, and walked out toward their car. It wasn't hard to pick out; it was the most expensive car on the street. Neither of them looked back.

We watched as they got in and drove away, then Danny shut the door.

"Wow." Taylor looked down at the flute. "Did that just happen?"

"I kind of think it did," Amy said. "It's a beautiful flute. Your mom had one like it and Sophia took it?"

"Yeah." Taylor lifted it out of the tissue paper again. "It's just like the one she used to have. Come on, let's finish getting set up and I'll tell you about it." Together they headed off; Danny and I watched them go.

"It took me the longest time to find out where that flute had gotten to," he mused. "And even longer to get her to understand that I wasn't mad at her for taking it to school. I was just angry and upset at the school for letting that crap happen."

"Yeah well, shit happens," I sympathised.

"Really?" he asked, deadpan. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," I replied, equally expressionless. "I think I even saw it on a T-shirt somewhere."

With a snort, he slapped me on the back. "Come on, let's go set the barbecue up."

"A barbecue birthday party. Sounds legit."

He headed down the front hall; I followed. "Hey, if it works, it works."

I couldn't argue.

* * *

We had just gotten the barbecue started to Danny's satisfaction when the side gate twanged. I looked around to see two familiar faces. "Kurt, Lacey," I greeted them. "Long time no see."

"Mike," the male Dockworker replied. "You look like you've been through a bit."

"Eh, security guarding in Brockton Bay isn't as cushy a job as working on the docks," I jibed.

He grinned and stuck out his hand. I shook it, careful to keep my grip moderate. Still, he seemed to notice something. "You've been doing something," he noted. "Been working out?"

"Gotta keep fit somehow," I hedged, then shook Lacey's hand. "Nice to see you both."

"And you too, Mike," she said. "I hear Taylor's doing well."

"Once they got her out of that hellhole they call Winslow, yeah," Danny agreed, joining us. "She's at Arcadia now and making friends." He tilted his head my way. "Mike won't admit it, but he had a little to do with that."

Kurt and Lacey both looked my way; I shrugged. "Security guards see and hear things. I had a word with the principal about what I'd seen and heard, and she saw it my way." Which was a _massive_understatement, not to mention a gross misrepresentation of the facts, but it sounded good.

Both Kurt and Lacey were nodding wisely now. "Damn bureaucrats," Kurt muttered. "They can't see the nose on their face until you point it out."

"Hey, you know I'm one of those damn bureaucrats," Danny pointed out mildly.

"Yeah, but you're the exception to the rule," Lacey told him kindly. "You've actually got a working brain."

"She's got a point," I said. "Beers?"

"Beers," Kurt agreed.

I went and got beers.

=/=

The first steaks were coming off the barbecue; Gladys and I had cold drinks in hand, sitting at one of the folding tables. "This is a nice party," she noted. People were still arriving; I saw Taylor and Amy, now dressed for the party, greeting a boy of about their age. He looked somehow familiar.

"It is," I agreed. "That kid go to Winslow, do you know?"

"I don't know him," she admitted, after looking in that direction for a moment. "Where did Glory Girl get to?"

"I think she said something about getting changed and making sure her dad wasn't late. Whoops, incoming."

Taylor and Amy arrived at our table all in a rush, dragging the boy with them. "Mike, I want you to meet Chris," Taylor said all in a rush. "He goes to Arcadia too. Amy invited him." I read the subtext pretty plainly. _I want you to tell me he's a good guy._

"Hello, Chris," I greeted him, extending my hand.

"Hello, sir," he replied politely, shaking it firmly. "Taylor's told me a lot about you."

About halfway through his words, it clicked for me; something about the way he looked at me, the recognition in his eyes. _We've met before. I know you._ Amy's memory mods did the rest; I tried hard not to smile too broadly. "Well, I'm glad that Taylor's making friends," I said blandly. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Chris."

Taylor caught my eye; I nodded very slightly. The tension went out of her shoulders and she smiled. Behind her, I saw the amusement in Amy's eyes; as Chris turned away, I raised an eyebrow. She smirked, then moved away with Taylor and Chris.

I took a drink, then chuckled. "Oh god, that's gonna be interesting."

"All right, spill," Gladys told me sternly. "What's so funny?"

"Okay, don't tell anyone," I said in an undertone, "but that kid is one of the Wards. Taylor knows him as a Ward and as a kid at school, but she doesn't know they're one and the same. Amy does, and she's seeing how long it takes Taylor to twig. And Chris too, for that matter."

She muffled a snort of laughter. "Goodness me. And I thought teen high school drama couldn't be improved upon. Now it's teen high school drama with _secret identities."_

I grinned. "Now there's an idea for a TV show."

"I'd watch it," she agreed with a matching smile.

We touched our drinks together and drank to that.

=/=

**Mark**

Vicky, wearing her best party dress, fidgeted in the passenger seat. "Come on, Dad. We're gonna be _late."_

Mark Dallon raised a mild eyebrow. "You do realise that you could have flown there."

She huffed a sigh of exasperation. "Not wearing a skirt, Dad. You're the one who drummed that into me."

"I _meant," _he said patiently, "you could have flown there carrying your dress and changed once you got there."

"But then you might have forgotten," she pointed out. "Without me to remind you and all."

"I _am_ a little curious as to why I was even invited," he replied. "It's not as though I know the girl, or her parents."

"Her father," Vicky corrected him. "Her mom died in a car accident a few years ago, remember?"

"Ah, right. Sorry. Well, okay, I don't know Taylor or her father. Why was I invited?"

"Because Ames wanted you there," Vicky explained. "I miss her a lot. Don't you?"

"Yes," he agreed. "The house is different with her gone." He sighed. "Well, I suppose it will be a chance to see how she's doing with the Heberts. You say she seems happier?"

"Yeah, and that's the weird bit. Before she moved in with these guys, she barely knew them. _I_ hadn't even met them. But now she's spending more time with Taylor than with me. And she's helping out the Wards and this new cape, Weaver, as well. It's like she's a different person."

He turned a perceptive eye on her. "You think there might be something wrong?"

"I don't _know."_ Her tone was pure frustration. "If I knew for a fact that there was something wrong, I'd punch it till it stopped being a problem. But this … I guess Ames has had her issues, but now it seems she's running away from them instead of facing them."

"_She_ can't punch them till they go away," he pointed out gently. "You said she's getting therapy?"

"Yeah, and that's another thing," she said. "Who gets therapy? Amy's a _superhero._ She's been doing this for _years._ She isn't loopy."

"Maybe it's _because_ she's been doing this for years that she needs a breather," Mark suggested.

"Why should she?" she asked blankly. _"I_ don't."

"The difference between you two is that you always looked forward to being a superhero," he noted. "I'm not so sure that she did."

"Of course she did," scoffed Vicky. "Who wouldn't?"

"But have you actually _asked_ her?"

Vicky looked thoughtful. "Well, no. I never thought I'd have to. It's kind of self-evident."

"To you, maybe." He looked up at the street sign as they passed by. "Which way now?"

"Oh yeah, down that street." Vicky pointed. "It's a few blocks down, but you can't miss the house. I've been helping decorate."

"Thanks, honey." He followed her directions. "But yeah, maybe you should ask Amy if she's really happy as a superhero."

"I don't see why she shouldn't be," Vicky mused. "Having powers is the greatest thing ever. But sure, if I get the chance, I'll ask. And I'll find out how long she's gonna be living away from home, too. I miss my sister."

"Me too, Vicky," he replied. "Me too."

Neither of them brought up the point that Carol had not been invited; when the subject of the party had come up, she had cited case work to get completed before a particular deadline. Whether or not this was true was immaterial, given that it defused a potentially awkward situation. Carol, of all of them, had had the least problem with Amy's absence. Mark figured he knew why, but it was more politic to not mention it either way.

"So will there be any other capes there?" he asked, just to break the silence.

"Oh, just me and Ames, as far as I know," she replied. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason."

=/=

**Amy**

"So what do your folks do, Chris?"

Chris sipped at his drink before answering Taylor's question. "Oh, uh, nothing special. He works in the city, and she's a stay-at-home mom." He paused before asking his own question. "Your dad's in the Dockworkers, right?"

Amy had to work to conceal her grin. She knew Chris from the Wards, of course, and the fact that he had befriended Taylor in his civilian identity was too good an opportunity to pass up. They had associated with each other in and out of costume, but this was the first social gathering that they had attended together.

"Yeah," Taylor said, taking a drink of Coke. "He's head of hiring, which is why he isn't as brawny as the rest of them." She stole a glance at Chris, as if trying to work something out. _Probably almost recognises him, but can't figure out from where,_ Amy decided, her inner amusement rising. "So where do you know Amy from?"

"Hah, actually, I was going to ask you the same question," Chris chuckled. "I've been in a few of her classes at school over the last couple of years. I think I even knew her in middle school, but she wasn't a superhero then."

"And I appreciate the fact that you've always treated me the same, no matter what," Amy put in. It was true; whether as Chris or Kid Win, he had always been polite. A little distant at times, but that was a Tinker thing rather than anything to do with her. When he had designs putting themselves together in his head, socialising became far less important.

"Well, I think I remember pulling your hair once upon a time," said Chris with a grin. "It was quite a while ago, but I'm pretty sure it was you."

"I don't remember that," Amy replied. "What did I do?"

"Oh, you didn't do anything. Vicky dumped her drink over my head then pushed me over," Chris recalled. "I didn't mess with either of you after that."

Taylor laughed. "Yeah, Vicky does come across as a bit protective, doesn't she?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Always. I'm glad she's okay with me staying with you guys."

"Yeah, how did that happen, anyway?" asked Chris. Amy saw Taylor's expression twitch just slightly. _Thought you'd steered the conversation away from that little awkward detail, didn't you?_

"Oh, uh, it wasn't our idea," Taylor said. "You know Mike? Yeah, he set it all up. Something to do with giving Amy a normal grounding to recharge her batteries, away from the cape hustle and bustle. Or something like that."

Amy was impressed. _Either she made that up on the spur of the moment or she remembered something Mike did say. And it sounds like him._ "Yeah, something like that," she agreed. "I needed to have a friend who didn't see me as 'ooh, Panacea!' instead of, you know, me. And Taylor …" She trailed off, not sure how to say it.

"And Taylor needed a friend who was actually a friend," Taylor finished for her. "Someone who wouldn't find out all my secrets then turn around and backstab me with them. And that's you." She grinned at Amy, who found herself grinning back. "It's so awesome having someone who can -" She paused, and Amy would have bet everything she had that Taylor was editing her words on the fly, "- understand what it's like to be a teenage girl, who I can talk to. Doing homework together. You know, just hanging out."

"So wait, you didn't have _any_ friends?" asked Chris. "Not even, you know, casual acquaintances?"

Taylor's eyes were bleak. "Not a one. Given that it was my ex-best friend leading the pack, anyone who made any overtures toward me were warned off or more likely in on it, ready to turn on me when it would hurt the most. So I couldn't trust anyone. Not even the teachers."

"The teachers." Chris shook his head. "I don't get it."

"Trust me, you still won't, even after she explains it," Amy told him. "She's told _me_ and it's just horrific."

"So what happened?" His expression was a mix between curiosity and disbelief. "With the teachers, I mean. Did they bully you too?"

"Not as such," Taylor admitted. "But they did the next best thing. Emma was popular. She took part in school events. Teachers tended to give her the benefit of the doubt. With her and the whole popular crowd on her side, and me on my own on the other, it wasn't hard to paint me as the weird loner loser who was probably at fault any time anything went down."

"And you couldn't go to the principal?"

"I tried, at least the first few times," Taylor said. "But nothing happened. A few slaps on the wrist, and they were back to it. After a while, I gave up. Gave up complaining. Gave up reacting. So they worked harder at it, to get a rise out of me."

"Jesus." Chris shook his head. "I didn't know it was _that_ bad."

"Trust me." Taylor put her hand on his arm. "When you said hi to me in the classroom on that first day, you made my day. Just by being friendly. _That's_ how different it was."

"Wow." Chris looked from Taylor to Amy and back. "Well, I'm glad I helped. And I'm glad you invited me to the party. Whichever one of you had the idea to do it."

"Yeah, that was my idea," Amy told him. "Because Taylor's got _no_ idea who to invite to a thing like this. And to be honest, I'm not great at it either, but Vicky's given me a few pointers over the years, so yeah. I didn't figure you'd ruin the party, so here you are."

"Wow, yeah, thanks." Chris shook his head again. "_That's_ a ringing endorsement if I ever heard one."

"Well, it's the same criteria that I used to invite Vicky," Amy explained. "Also Lance, Bridget and Ken."

"What, that they kind of knew me and you didn't think they'd cause problems?" asked Taylor, looking around at where several of her classmates were at the barbecue, getting steaks.

Amy shrugged. "Basically, yeah. And they haven't yet, right?"

"Well, no," agreed Taylor. "I think they're enjoying themselves. I hope so, anyway. This is the first time I've had a party with guests my own age in forever."

"Well, it seems to be going okay so far." Amy turned to Chris. "So, I notice you didn't bring along a plus one, like Lance and Ken did. I'm guessing you don't have a girlfriend?"

Chris opened his mouth and paused, then looked from Amy to Taylor. "Uh, is this one of those questions where I'm going to regret it whichever way I answer?"

"Now why would you think something like that?" asked Amy cheerfully.

"Because that's the way it always seems to turn out when girls start asking a guy whether he's got a girlfriend or not," Chris said frankly.

"Oh, look." Taylor's voice held just a tinge of relief as she looked past Amy. "Vicky's back, and she's brought her father. I'll just go introduce him to Dad."

Amy and Chris watched her go, then Chris looked back at Amy. "Isn't he your dad too?" he asked curiously.

"Nope," she replied definitively and just a little defensively. "I was adopted."

He frowned. "But … you've got powers too. I always thought …"

"So did most people," Amy conceded. "And I was okay with it for a long time. But that time's past."

"No, what I mean is, kids of capes are more likely to get powers," he explained. "You got your powers, just like Vicky did. But if you're adopted …"

"Oh, right, yeah," she said. "No, I'm still the kid of a cape. Just not Flashbang and Brandish."

He blinked. "Uh … what? Who?"

"Sorry," she told him, shaking her head slightly. "That's something I'm not going to be telling many people. Privacy reasons, you know?"

"Oh, okay, sorry." He looked abashed, and she took pity on him.

"No, it's okay," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "Just, well, privacy. It's not a huge secret that I'm adopted, but we don't spread it around."

"Okay, sure," he agreed. "Um, I gotta ask, why were you asking me if I had a girlfriend in front of Taylor? Are you trying to set me up with her?"

"Um, maybe?" she replied, feeling on the defensive again. "Look, you're a nice guy and I've known you for years. I like Taylor a lot, and I think she could do with more friends. And I'm pretty sure she's never had a boyfriend before and she likes you. And you like her too, right?"

He sighed with mild aggravation. "Amy, look. Seriously. I do like Taylor. I think she's great. And I think she's really good for you too. But just because I like her doesn't mean I _like_ like her. And the same goes with her to me. I mean, it's okay if I'm just her guy friend, not her boyfriend, right? We'll still hang out?"

"Yeah, we can do that," Amy said, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "I guess I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," he assured her. "I'm kind of flattered, really. But there's more than that. I mean, you know I'm a Tinker. We don't do well at social stuff. I've always got more designs in my head, especially since the Director suggested that I work with modular systems. And then there's the simple fact that I'm a cape. I don't think a relationship between a cape and a non-cape would really work out. Either I'd have to keep secrets from her, or I'd have to unmask to her, and what if the relationship goes sour after that?"

Amy went to open her mouth, to protest the last statement, then stopped herself. _Taylor's a cape, and Chris is a cape, and they're both using that as a reason not to get into a relationship. Could the irony get any deeper?_

"I, uh, yeah, you're right," she said at last. "Let's just drop the idea, okay?"

"Good thinking," he agreed with more relief than she really thought the situation warranted. "Want to get some punch?"

She nodded. "Punch is good."

=/=

**Danny**

"Excuse me, Dad? Got a minute?"

Danny looked around from where he was sitting at a table, chatting with Gladys and Mike and Kurt. "Taylor? What's up?" And then he saw the man standing with her. "Oh, uh, hold on. I know you, don't I?" Belatedly, he stood up.

"Most everyone does," the man agreed, holding out his hand. "Mark Dallon. Pleased to meet you. Danny Hebert, right?"

"Yeah," Danny replied, shaking his hand. "You're Flashbang. Amy's father."

"That's me," Flashbang said. "But right now I'm just plain old Mark Dallon."

Danny grinned. "Well, plain old Mark Dallon, I'd like to introduce you to Kurt and Gladys and Mike."

Mark shook hands with all three; while Gladys and Kurt seemed particularly impressed at meeting such a well-known cape, Mike appeared to be more laid-back about it. "Is Brandish going to be here?" asked Kurt. "Lacey would love to meet her."

"Ah, no," Mark admitted. "She's busy. After all, our work is never done." He sniffed. "Those steaks smell delicious."

Danny tilted his head. "Come on, let's get some." He led the way over to the barbecue where the steaks were beginning to brown under Lacey's watchful eye. "Lacey, I'd like you to meet Mark Dallon."

She looked startled. "Oh my god, Flashbang?"

Mark grinned, a little self-consciously. "Yeah, that's me. But call me Mark."

"Oh, okay, sure." But she still looked a little fan-girlish as she glanced around. "Is Brandish -?"

"Sorry, no, she's busy," Mark said once more. "But I'll say hello to her for you if you want."

Danny had to grin as well as Lacey turned pink and nodded vigorously.

"I've got to ask you, do you get this all the time?" he queried as he put a steak on to a plate for Mark.

"Thanks," the cape replied as he applied ketchup with a liberal hand. "Yeah, occasionally. But it's also a reminder of why we set up New Wave the way we did."

Danny grabbed a plate for himself, with a steak and some coleslaw, then indicated a table. "How's that?"

"So that people can be reminded that capes are human too," Mark explained as he sat down. "Too often, they see us as unreachable, distant, inhuman. Giving capes a human face keeps us responsible and lets people see us as, well, people."

"Yeah, but there's also the reason why capes put on masks in the first place," Danny argued. "So that they could have a place they could go to as normal people, not as capes. So that villains wouldn't always be able to find them."

"There's the unwritten rules for that," Mark countered. "Anyone doing that sort of thing gets into all sorts of trouble."

"Amy's told me a bit about those," Danny said. "But she also told me that they aren't always followed. If someone thinks he can get away with breaking them, he will. And all it takes is one punk with a grievance. Right?"

Mark was silent for a moment. "Yeah," he admitted. "The system isn't perfect. But nor is everyone being masked up. That has its own abuses."

Danny had to agree; the situation with Sophia Hess, otherwise known as Shadow Stalker, came to mind. If her identity had been public, there would be no way she would have gotten away with her bullying for so long. "Point," he admitted. "But there was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?" asked Mark. "Do tell."

"It's about Amy," Danny began.

Mark's interest visibly sharpened. "What about her?"

"She's a great girl," Danny assured him. "Taylor and I get along really well with her. I've enjoyed having her here, and so has Taylor. They're getting to be good friends. Which I think they both needed."

Mark cut off a slice of steak and ate it. "It sounds all right so far," he ventured.

"Oh, it's great," Danny agreed. "There's just one thing." He took a deep breath. "She's started calling me 'Dad'."

=/=

**Mark**

He blinked as the cold feeling entered his chest. _She's my little girl. I raised her for years._ Then he took a deep breath. "She has?"

Danny Hebert's face was all sympathy. "Yeah. And she's a good kid, she really is. Taylor likes her a lot too."

"You said that already," Mark observed, a little distantly. _Where is this going?_ He thought he knew, but he wasn't certain.

Danny took another deep breath. "So we asked her if she wanted to be adopted into the family and she said yes, she would. And Taylor likes the idea too. We just need your okay on the matter before we start the process to make it official."

_Oh god, Vicky's gonna be so upset._ Mark frowned and shook his head slightly. "Just me? Wouldn't Carol need to be consulted as well?"

Danny looked a little embarrassed. "According to Amy, Carol would probably help fill out the paperwork. I've done some checking and since Amy's already sixteen, she only needs the one parent to give consent. To be honest, we don't really need either of you to say yes, but we all thought that you deserved this much. At least this much."

His sincerity was obvious, as was his discomfort. "Yeah, I do appreciate that," Mark said. "You don't think you're rushing a little with this?"

"No, not really," Danny replied. "We've been in the same household for weeks now. Months. We've had our arguments and disagreements. But we get along anyway. Amy's going running in the mornings and afternoons with Taylor, did you know?"

"I … no, I didn't," Mark admitted. "I thought she was looking a little fitter."

"According to Taylor, she's getting really good at it." Danny shrugged. "I feel better about the fact that they're going together. I always worried about Taylor out on her own."

"Huh." Mark nodded. "Well, okay. You want to adopt her, and she wants to be adopted. Yeah?"

"Yeah," agreed Danny. "She says she'll still keep in touch with you guys. One of the things she was worried about was upsetting you, but I guess you'll have to talk to her about that yourself."

"I was just about to say that," Mark said. "Before we go any farther on this, I do want to talk to her about this whole thing. Make sure it's what she really wants."

"Oh yeah, definitely," Danny agreed. "I think she's waiting for you over there with the others."

=/=

**Amy**

"Your dad and my dad seem to be talking fairly seriously," Vicky noted. "What's that about, do you think?"

Taylor frowned, though Amy knew she was just faking it. "Not sure," she hedged. "Maybe checking to see if Amy's done her homework?"

"Oh, funny," Amy retorted, her light tone belying the size of the butterflies in her stomach. "More like if I'm doing all your homework for you or only part of it."

"Hah, riiight," Taylor snorted. "Or should we go over and ask Mrs Knott how my grades were in her Computers classes while I was still at Winslow?"

Amy was just mustering her reply when Chris nudged her. "He's coming over."

She turned and sure enough, Mark was walking in their direction. "'Scuse me, guys," she murmured and went to meet him.

"Hi," she said when she got close enough.

"Hi, Amy girl," he replied. "Missed you."

"Yeah, I miss you too," she sighed. "Thanks for coming."

He chuckled. "Well, Vicky _was_ kind of insistent. But I'm glad I made it. Taylor seems nice, and so does her father."

"Oh, they're great," she enthused, then caught his expression. "I mean …"

"I know what you mean," he said. "Can we talk about something?"

She knew exactly what 'something' was, but she didn't let her expression change. "Sure. Let's go inside where it's quieter."

Turning, she gave a nod to Taylor, whose eyes betrayed her worry, and led the way into the house. _Taylor won't use her bugs to spy on us. I hope._ This was a conversation that she wanted to keep as private as possible.

The couch in the living room was occupied by Lance and his girlfriend, but after Mark cleared his throat meaningfully, they got up and left to find some other private space. Amy sat down and after a moment, Mark sat beside her.

A long, awkward pause followed. Amy could hear the chatter from outside, the music from the CD player set up on a folding table. Someone laughed at something, and she caught an errant waft of the smell of steak. Her stomach rumbled, but she silently told it to shut up.

"You're … uh, you're happy here?" he asked at last.

"Oh god yes," she blurted. "Da- uh, Mr Hebert's really nice, and Taylor's just cool. We do homework together."

"You and Vicky used to do your homework together too," he observed mildly.

"Yeah, we did," she agreed. _Until I started feeling the way I did about her, and made excuses so we weren't sitting so close all the time._

"Danny told me something interesting," he forged on. "He said that you want to make this arrangement permanent. That you want to be adopted."

There was no censure in his voice, but the urgency of his need to understand shone through like a beacon. He didn't say any more, but the unspoken word _Why?_ was plain to hear.

"It's not about you," Amy tried to explain. "And it's not about Vicky. Well, mostly not about Vicky." She stopped.

"Your mother," Mark filled in.

"Carol, yeah," Amy agreed.

"She raised you," he corrected her, his voice a little harder than before.

"She _tolerated_ me," she said flatly. "You know it and I know it. You did your best, and I appreciate it, I really do. Vicky is … well, Vicky. But there's … issues. Pressures. Things that make it so that I'm really better off out of the house."

"What issues?" His tone was curious. "And you said 'mostly not' Vicky. Which means she's a little bit of a problem. How? I thought you two were really close."

"We are," Amy told him reluctantly. "But she's one of the reasons that I've been going to therapy."

"Ah yes, the therapy," he said. "Mrs Yamada's been in contact with us, to ask if we can come in and sit in on a session or two. But things have been so hectic."

She caught the tone of voice and nodded. "And Carol really isn't thrilled about the idea, yeah?" He didn't answer, and she nodded again. "You know, you can just come in with Vicky. Mrs Yamada's really understanding."

"I … maybe," he said reluctantly. "So, what's this about Vicky?"

"It's something that I need to speak to her about first," Amy said, realising, not for the first time, that she _was_ going to have to speak to Vicky about her feelings. She wasn't looking forward to it, not in the slightest. "If she wants to tell you about it after, that's up to her."

Mark nodded. "Okay then," he agreed. "So, you're sure that you want Danny Hebert to adopt you?"

She took a deep breath. "Yeah," she told him. "I mean, you'll always be special to me, and you and Vicky can come over any time, but … I feel more at home here, you know? There's no pressure on me to be something I don't want to be."

"There's pressure on you at home?" he asked, startled.

He looked so confused that she took pity on him. "Mark … Dad … I'm sorry, but there is. There, I'm Panacea first and Amy second. Here, I'm Amy first and Panacea second. They accept me for who I am instead of what I am. And it's been very carefully explained to me that I don't _have_ to heal people if I don't _want_ to."

"But you're a _superhero,"_ he objected. "It's what we _do."_

"It's what _you_ do," she said. "Since I moved in here, this huge weight has been gradually lifting off my shoulders, and I never knew how heavy it was till it started going away. And I don't want it back. And Taylor and Da- uh, Mr Hebert are happy to let me be who I want. So I want to stay."

Slowly, he nodded. "I can see that." He looked around the living room. "It's not a very _big_ house, is it?"

"I don't care," Amy told him. "I like it here. I take my turn with the chores and Taylor's teaching me how to cook. We get along."

"Yes, I can see that." His sigh was just a little sad. "Well, it looks like your mind's made up."

"It is. Really." She put her arms around him. "I'm sorry. You've been as good a dad as you could be. But I'm happy here. Really I am."

"Well, I'll miss you, Amy girl." He hugged her in return. "Well, I guess I'll go and talk to Danny then. Give him the good news."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Thanks."

"I just want you to be happy." He kissed her on the forehead. "Though I understand that you've already been calling Danny 'dad' on occasion. Jumping the gun a little, hmm?"

She turned a little pink, though his tone was more mischievous than anything else. "I, uh, yeah. But you'll always be my dad, too. You've earned it."

"Thank you, Amy girl. That means a lot to me."

They had gotten up from the couch and were heading back out to the party before the reality hit Amy. _Mark said yes! They can adopt me! _She felt as though she were walking on air. _I've got to tell Taylor!_

=/=

**Mike**

"See that?"

"See what?" asked Gladys, looking around.

I nodded toward where Mark was walking toward the group of kids. "Danny and Mark just had a fairly intense discussion about something. And now Mark's going to talk to either Vicky or Amy … Amy it is, then. They're going into the house."

"So he wants to talk to his daughter. The one who's been living away from home." Gladys' voice was matter-of-fact. "Wouldn't you?"

"If that's all there was to it, sure," I agreed. "But I'd bet that there's more. Look at Taylor. She looks like a cat on hot bricks."

Maybe I was exaggerating just a little, but not overly much. Taylor was fidgeting just a bit, glancing occasionally at the back door of the house.

"Whatever they're talking about involves her," Gladys concluded. "But is it really any of our business?"

"Kinda," I hedged. "Whatever it is, it's not something that I know about. Which makes it of interest. Not just because I'm a nosy bastard, but, well, it's interesting to see stuff diverge from the way it was supposed to go."

"So they weren't friends originally?" Gladys' voice was intrigued.

"Hah, god no. They were first going to meet when Taylor holds a knife to Amy's throat during a bank robbery."

Gladys gasped. "She what?"

"Well, this is after Amy clocks Taylor with a fire extinguisher," I admitted. "Things get a little out of hand. But that never happened this time around, and they've got the chance to become friends."

"Because of you," she murmured, giving me a fond glance.

"Well." I drawled out the word, pretending fake modesty. "Maybe just a little."

She snorted, seeing right through me. "Indeed. Well, I'm going to get another one of those excellent steaks. Would you like one as well?"

"Um, I might just go see if Taylor's willing to tell me what's going on," I decided. "Because not knowing is driving me nuts."

She chuckled as we got up. "I suppose. You arrived here knowing everything, and now you know very little about what's going to happen next. It must be a strange experience for you."

"One way to put it," I agreed, giving her a quick peck on the lips. "I won't say no to that steak, either."

"Only if you agree to tell me what's going on," she said. I blinked; she grinned. "What, I'm not allowed to be curious too?"

"Okay, done," I told her. "You'll be the second to know."

She moved off toward where Kurt stood with Lacey at the barbecue. I made my way over to where Taylor was chatting with Vicky and Chris and a couple of kids I didn't know.

"Hi, Mike," Taylor greeted me as I came up to them. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Yup," I said. "How about you? I mean, this is your day, right?"

"Oh, it's great." Her voice was reasonably enthusiastic, but there was that edge of uncertainty to it. Meanwhile, her eyes wandered toward the back door again.

"Something the matter?" I asked, drawing on the right of a surrogate uncle to be as nosy as I liked.

That got me a startled glance. "I, uh, Amy's just talking with Mr Dallon."

"Well, yes," I told her. "I know_ that._ I just don't know why you're so jumpy about it."

"Actually, you _are_ being kind of weird about it," Vicky said thoughtfully. "What's going on?"

Taylor opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say went by the board when Amy appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her in a ferocious hug. Caught by surprise, Taylor was spun around a couple of times while Amy babbled something over and over. Eventually, I figured it out as 'he said yes'.

"What?" blurted Taylor. "He did? He said yes?"

Amy let her go and nodded vigorously, and then it was Taylor's turn to hug her friend and spin her around.

This display of emotion had drawn the eye of nearly everyone at the party. I cleared my throat, causing Taylor and Amy to turn and look at me.

"Okay, _something's_ obviously got you both all worked up," I noted with some amusement. "Would it be possible to share it with the rest of us? Because I, for one, am kinda curious."

They both started talking at the same time, then stopped and burst out laughing. Taylor turned to Amy. "Go ahead, you tell him."

Amy shook her head. "Nuh uh. You can tell him."

"Ahem," I stated firmly. "Amy. You tell me."

She was almost vibrating with excitement; I held up a hand. "Take a deep breath," I advised her. "Then tell me."

After doing as she was told, she blurted out, "I'm getting adopted!"

I blinked. "What."

It was Taylor's turn. "Dad and me are adopting Amy. She's gonna live with us for good!"

As the chatter sprang up between the other partygoers, I scratched my beard. "Wow. That's a new one on me."

"Isn't it _great?"_ Amy said, her face glowing. "I love Taylor to bits, and now she's gonna be my _sister!"_

"Umm …" I let the sound draw out for a moment.

Amy and Taylor both looked at me. "What?" asked Taylor. "What's wrong?"

For an answer, I let my gaze drift over to where Vicky stood, looking as though she'd been slapped across the face with a medium-sized trout. "You didn't fill her in first, did you?"

Amy's face fell. "Uh, we wanted to …" she began, then trailed off.

"Keep it a secret till you knew for sure?" I asked gently.

Taylor nodded. "Yeah. We didn't want anyone to get all excited over nothing."

"Hm." I nodded toward Vicky. "Amy, maybe you'd better go and talk to her. Explain matters."

"Um, yeah, maybe I should," she agreed reluctantly. "Uh, Vicky?"

At the mention of her name, Vicky's attention focused. "Ames, what -" she began, before I raised a finger. "What?" she demanded.

"Maybe this should be a private conversation," I suggested, nodding toward the house. "There's stuff that needs to be said that only you two need to hear."

"Yeah," Amy agreed. "Come on, Vicky. Let's go inside."

She led the way into the house. Vicky followed. The door shut behind them.

Chris turned to Taylor. "Well, _that_ was different," he admitted. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Thanks," she replied. "I hope they can work out whatever it is."

"Me too," I said.

She turned to me. "Will it be okay?"

I spread my hands. "You're asking _me?"_

"Well …" she began, her eyes pleading with me to understand.

I sighed. "Okay. It's a big change. There'll be difficulties. But you two are good friends, and you've learned to live with each other. You've got as good a chance as any at making it work as a family." I shrugged. "I can't give you anything better."

"It's okay. I understand." She pulled me forward and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks for everything you've done. For making this possible."

"Hey, I just showed up at the right time and place, and did what needed to be done," I reminded her. "Everything since then has been all you." I nodded at the two of them. "I'm gonna leave you guys to it. Just remember, you've got more in common than you think you do."

Leaving them looking a little puzzled at that last comment, I turned and headed back to Gladys. "Found out what was going on," I announced cheerfully.

She rolled her eyes. "So did everyone else. I'm pretty sure that doesn't count."

"I didn't say I was the _only_ one who would find out," I pointed out. "Steak?"

"I got you a steak anyway," she sighed. "You knew I would."

"Yeah, but it's fun."

She wrinkled her nose at me; I grinned back.

=/=

**Amy**

Vicky refused to sit on the couch, but instead chose to pace up and down. "What the fuck, Ames? Seriously? I thought _I _was your sister!"

"You still are," Amy argued. "Come on, sit down. You're just working yourself up."

"And why shouldn't I?" Vicky stamped her foot; the floorboards boomed. Dust drifted down from the ceiling. "My _sister, _the best friend I've ever had, is running away from me, from her family, from everything she knows, to live with _strangers!"_

"Vicky, what? No!" Amy raised her voice, which had the desired effect; Vicky turned to look at her. "In the first place, I'm not _running_ away. I'm _moving_ away. And you can still come visit. I'd love to see you."

"Oh, so now you're giving me permission to visit my own _sister."_ Vicky's voice was heavy on the sarcasm. "That's big of you."

Amy took a deep breath and let it out slowly, drawing on the calming exercises that Mrs Yamada had taught her. "It's not like that, Vicky, and you know it," she stated. "I had to move away. There were reasons. And now … well, now, I'm feeling more comfortable here than I ever did at home, and I want to stay. Where I'm comfortable."

"What? Why? How are you not comfortable at home?" Now Vicky was confused, but at least she wasn't shaking the house. "You've got everything you want there."

"No. I don't." This was harder than Amy had ever expected it to be, and she'd known all along that it wasn't going to be easy.

"Yes, you do," protested Vicky. "You've got me, and Mom and Dad, and your own _room,_ and clothes, and food, and -"

"No. Vicky. No. Stop." Amy felt the waves of emotion pouring off of Vicky, felt her own heart rate speeding up. _I don't _**want**_ this argument._ "Please. Just _listen_ to me."

Something in the tone of her voice must have gotten through to Vicky, because she paused and looked at Amy curiously. "What? What's so bad about home?"

"There's no one thing that's _bad,_ but there's a lot of things that are all adding up to a huge amount of pressure. Pressure I didn't even realise I was under until Mike pointed it out to me. And now that I'm here, the pressure isn't on me any more."

"God _dammit,"_ spat Vicky. "That man again. Ever since he showed up, everything's been going weird. You leaving home, that meeting -"

"Vicky, _stop._ This isn't about Mike. It's about me. And you. And why I want to stay here."

"Okay, fine," Vicky said, attempting a voice of reason. "Give me these reasons. Show me why they're so bad." She stood there, folding her arms, almost tapping one toe, so much the image of her mother that Amy had to blink.

"Okay, for a start, there's Carol." _First and worst._

"You mean Mom." Vicky's tone wasn't exactly receptive.

"I mean Carol. She's not my mom, she's never been my mom, and I've never been her daughter."

"Yes. You have."

"No. I haven't. She's never even _hugged _me."

Vicky blinked, apparently taken aback. "That can't be true."

"Yeah, it is. Mark hugs me. Carol doesn't trust me enough. Or, for that matter, like me."

"Why wouldn't she trust you?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Because my dad's a supervillain, duh." When Mike had first confirmed it for her, and even had Mrs Yamada tell her who it was, she had taken it as a huge shock to the system. But intervening time, and intense discussion with the therapist, had brought it down to a simple fact. _Marquis is my dad. Huh._

"You don't know that for certain." They had, of course, spent hours discussing who her real parents might be, and why she had been adopted by the Dallons. But for some reason they'd never touched on Marquis. Or at least, not that Amy recalled.

"Actually, yeah, I do. Once I knew it, Carol's behaviour made a lot of sense. She acts like I'm about to turn evil and be like my dad."

Vicky frowned, but she didn't voice a protest. "Okay, she's a little standoffish. But that can't be the only reason."

"No, it isn't." Amy looked up at Vicky, willing her to understand. "The whole powers thing. Being a superhero. You always wanted it. I didn't. But once I got powers there was all this pressure on me to use them for good. To be a superhero. To heal people. It got so that if I wasn't healing people I felt like I was a bad person. So I would walk to the hospital in the middle of the night."

Now Vicky looked startled. "I didn't know that!"

"Yeah, well, now you know why I was tired so often in class last semester." Amy grimaced. "It took therapy to really hammer it home to me that I _didn't have to._ I'm my own person. My powers are my own. I really don't have to use them if I don't want to. I don't _have_ to be a superhero. I don't _have_ to be Panacea if I don't want to be."

Vicky was looking at her as though Amy had just started declaiming in Urdu. "But … no. Seriously. You're Panacea. You _are_ a superhero. How can you not want to be?"

"And there's the pressure, right there. The expectation. You can't see it any other way. Well, I can. And I choose to walk away."

Pacing up and down again, Vicky rubbed her forehead. "Okay, I think I kind of get it. But that still doesn't mean you have to move away from home. We can accept that you don't want to be Panacea for a bit. Time off while you get your head back in the game. And I'll talk to Mom. But you can still stay."

"That's not all of it," Amy told her. "There's more."

"More?" Vicky was looking confused again. "What else could there be?"

Amy took another deep breath; her heart was hammering again. "Before I tell you, could you _please_ turn down your aura? I'm pretty sure they can feel it outside. I mean, it doesn't work on _me, _but they're all susceptible."

"Okay, sorry." Amy felt the emotional pressure subside. "It kind of got away from me for a bit there."

"I kind of noticed." Amy's tone was facetious, forcing a grin out of Vicky. "Okay. This last one is the hardest for me." She paused, mustering her courage. "I'm gay."

Vicky stared at her. "What? What's wrong with that? Gay is the new awesome. Legend's gay, and I'm pretty sure I know a few guys who would jump the fence to get in on some of that action if he showed interest in them." She paused, then Amy could almost hear the _click_ behind her eyes. "Oh. _Oh._ Now I get it. It's Taylor, isn't it? You and her? No wonder you're so close. Well, that's okay."

She was well into Understanding Older Sister mode by now, and Amy almost let her go on with it. _It would be so easy to let her think that, and not have to tell her the truth._ But Mrs Yamada had been firm about this sort of thing. _To truly heal, I have to face matters and see them through._

"No, it's not Taylor," Amy told her quietly. "She's a friend, a good friend, but that's all there is between us. It's not her."

Caught short, Vicky trailed off. "Um. Okay. Not Taylor. Then who? Bridget? Amanda? One of the teachers?" A pause. "Wait, it's Weaver, right? The bug controller. You were pretty tight with her during the gang war."

It had been amusing to watch Chris and Taylor dance around the secret-identity situation before; now, it wasn't so funny. "No. It's not Weaver."

"Then who?" The puzzlement in her voice was obvious. "And why would this make you leave home, anyway?"

Amy shook her head. _It's amazing how we sometimes can't see what's right in front of us._ "Vicky. It's you."

"What." Vicky's voice was flat.

"It's _you."_ Amy tried to make her understand through sheer tone of voice. "I'm in love with _you."_

"What? No. No, you can't be. For one thing, you're my sister."

"_Adopted_ sister," Amy reminded her. "And yeah, I am. Have been for some time now."

Vicky stared at her suspiciously. "How long?"

Amy bit her lip. "Since around about the time we got our powers?" _Don't think too closely about that. Please don't._

"Wait. So every time I got out of the shower in front of you, every time I changed in front of you, you were checking me out?" Vicky was shaking her head now.

_Okay, one awkward topic avoided, another broached. _"Not _every _time, no," Amy said weakly. "But now you know. Why I really have to go. Because you're not interested in me, not like that. And you've got Dean. And Mike told me -"

"Mike told you what?" Vicky seized on that. "What _else_ did he tell you?"

Amy clenched her fists to conceal their trembling. "He told me that if things didn't change, if the pressures on me kept getting worse, then things would go very badly between us. That I would do something horrible to you. Something that would make me volunteer to go into the Birdcage."

Vicky's horror was almost palpable. "But you _wouldn't._ That's not you, Ames. I _know_ you."

_You didn't know I was gay._ "No, I wouldn't. Not _this_ me. Not now. Because things have changed. But _that_ me, the one who had been through so much bad stuff, who nowhere to go, nobody to turn to … I could snap under too much pressure. _Anyone _would. We're all human, after all. We make mistakes. If things hadn't changed, some time in the future I would have made a mistake that I would have regretted for the rest of my life. Several mistakes. And now I won't."

"But you can't _know_ it would have happened!"

"Mike said -"

"Enough about Mike!" screamed Vicky. "This is about you and me!" The aura was back on at full strength, flooding out anger-fear-flee in waves strong enough to make Amy want to throw up. She grabbed Amy by the shoulders, shaking her. "We were a _team!_ And now you're _rejecting_ us! Rejecting everything! Rejecting _me!"_

Amy took hold of her wrists, but she may as well have been trying to make a vice release its grip; Vicky's hold was too strong. She felt the bones in her shoulders creaking. "Vicky, it's not like that. Please, calm down."

"You hate Dean, don't you?" demanded Vicky, not listening. "You've hated him since we started dating. Because _you_ want me, and you can't have me."

Amy would have responded calmly, said something to defuse the situation, but the pain in her shoulders was becoming too great. So she did the only thing she could think of. It was a very small change, and she took as much care as she could under the circumstances.

The effect was immediate; Vicky let go and took a step back, staring at her. "What did you do?" she whispered. The waves of emotion had vanished, as if they had never been.

Amy released her wrists. "You were hurting me. I calmed you down. That's all."

Vicky shook her head. "No. You affected my _brain._ You always said -"

"That I don't do brains. That's right. But I've been taking therapy. And I've learned that under the right circumstances, it's not the wrong thing to do."

"And fucking with _my_ brain is the right thing to do, ever?" Vicky's anger was flaring again. "Fuck's sake, Ames, I'm your fucking _sister._ You don't fuck with my brain. What if you decided to make me gay too, to make me want to sleep with you? What's to stop you from doing that?"

"That's what I -" Amy stopped.

"That's what you did?" Vicky went pale. "Oh fuck. Please tell me you're joking."

"No. No no no." Amy shook her head violently. "I didn't. But that's what I _would_ have done, once upon a time, if I hadn't got therapy. Mike told me."

"No. This is too much." Vicky shook her head in turn. "You've changed, Ames. You're not the Amy I know."

"Yes. But it's a _good_ change," Amy argued. "I'm more centred. More balanced. More in control of myself."

But Vicky's expression was adamant. "You _fucked_ with my _brain._ You call Mom and Dad 'Carol' and 'Mark'. Like they never mattered anything to you, ever." She stabbed her finger toward the back yard. "You've dumped me as your sister and you're getting yourself adopted by a new family, with a new sister, because we're not _good_ enough. You've left New Wave. You stopped healing people. I don't even know you any more."

"It's not like that." But the words sounded weak even to Amy. Too late, she realised that the calming effect she had pulled on Vicky had backfired.

It had been the simplest thing she could think of to do under the circumstances. Vicky's hypothalamus had been producing oxytocin, corticoliberin and vasopressin, causing her pituitary gland to respond with corticotropin and her adrenal cortex with corticosteroids. Amy had suppressed the production of the hormones and caused Vicky's body to break down the excess, thus cutting off the anger at the source, or so she thought.

But once she broke contact with Vicky, the suppression wore off, and Vicky still had reason to be angry. So everything had started up again, with a vengeance. Her body could even be overproducing the hormones to compensate for the shortfall. All of which added up to trouble.

"The fuck it's not." Vicky stormed toward the back door. "It's all _his_ fault."

_Oh shit._

=/=

**Gladys**

When the terror overtook her, Gladys nearly dropped her cup. "Oh god," she whispered. "We've got to get away. Something's terribly wrong."

Mike took her arm, his eyes searching for the menace, as everyone swayed away from the house. He stood up; she could feel the tension in his body. "Everyone, it's okay!" he called out. "It's only Glory Girl's aura! You're not really feeling this! She's just making you think you are!"

"Amy's in there," quavered Gladys, not overly reassured by his words.

"Yeah." He let go her arm, giving her a pat on the forearm, then headed toward the house. It seemed to her that he was like a man walking into a strong wind, leaning against the outgoing current of anger and rage. He wasn't the only one; Flashbang was doing the same thing.

Then, abruptly, it stopped. She physically swayed in place as the emotional pressure dropped away. Mike was nearly at the back steps; now that she was thinking more clearly, she could see insects gathering from all around, almost swarming. _Taylor's bringing them in._

She had barely enough time to take a deep breath of relief before the anger and fear flooded through her mind again; the back door slammed open and Vicky stood there.

"You!" The teenage superhero pointed at Mike. "You did this! You screwed with her head!"

"No. I didn't. I _helped_ her." Gladys couldn't believe how calm Mike was being, how logical. She wanted to scream, to cry, to throw up, to run away. _Is this what it's like for bad guys who fight her?_

"Vicky -" That was Flashbang.

"_Bullshit!" _Vicky launched herself at Mike. He didn't have a chance to evade; Gladys wasn't even sure if he tried. They both went flying across the yard. The table with the cake on it went over, and the remains of the cake with it. Gladys heard someone scream; it might have been her. They hit the ground and rolled over and over; when they came to a stop, he was flat on his back with her kneeling on top of him.

Glory Girl floated upward until her feet were six inches off the ground, pulling Mike up by his shirt front. Cocking her fist, she prepared to launch it into his face.

"No!" shouted Gladys. Vicky took not the slightest bit of notice.

The lawn exploded right at her feet, showering her with shreds of grass and bits of dirt. _"Glory Girl! Stand down!"_

She didn't lower her fist, but she did turn her head toward her father. "But he -"

"Did _nothing._ You're a guest at this party, and you attacked him." Flashbang's voice was firm, commanding. "Go and sit in the car, Vicky. We're going home, once I finish apologising to everyone here."

When she let go of Mike, he collapsed on to his knees, then fell on to his side. The glare she shot down at him was pure poison. "This isn't over."

"Vicky -"

"No, Dad. This is wrong. Can't you _see?"_

Mark Dallon opened his mouth to respond, but there was a _whoosh_ of wind and suddenly Vicky was no longer there; a dwindling speck in the darkening sky was all that anyone could see of her.

"Dammit." Mark slumped a little. Gladys ignored him, rushing to Mike's side.

=/=

**Amy**

Carefully making her way down the back steps, Amy headed for Mike. One of the men – Kurt, she thought his name was – asked "Jeez, is he all right?"

Taylor fell into step with her. "What happened in there? I thought you were just going to talk it out."

Amy drew a deep sigh. "I thought so too. But it got out of hand. I think she's got some issues of her own."

"Yeah, no crap." Taylor's laugh was shaky. She put her hand on Amy's shoulder, eliciting a wince. "Hey, _are_ you okay?"

"Just bruising." Amy shook her head. "She doesn't know her own strength."

Mark shook his head. "Okay, now she's definitely gone over the line." He looked down at Mike. _"Really_ far over the line."

"She just grabbed my shoulders." Amy moved her arms gingerly. "Nothing's broken. Just a bit painful. It's okay. I can deal with pain." She looked to where Gladys was kneeling beside Mike. "He's the one I'm worried about."

"Michael." Gladys' voice was urgent. "Can you hear me? Speak to me."

Amy was close enough now that she saw him crack his eyes open just a fraction. She knelt down on the other side, just in time to hear him whisper, "I'm fine, but play it up."

Amy felt a vast relief. _I knew Riley's body mods were better than that._

Gladys turned to her. "Please, help him!"

"Let me see." Amy put on a businesslike tone. She put her hand on Mike's arm, where the sleeve had been torn away. He had not come away unscathed, but it was only a few minor fractures and a little internal bruising, whereas an unmodified human would have been hospitalised for weeks, if not months. "Broken ribs," she announced out loud. "Ruptured spleen. Damaged kidneys. Broken collarbone. Fractured spine." As she spoke, she healed the damage that he had _actually_ taken. "Okay, all fixed." She looked up and raised her voice. "He'll be all right."

The sigh of relief spread through the party-goers, along with a few spontaneous claps.

"_Thank_ you." The relief in Gladys' voice was not entirely feigned.

Amy smiled; this was the sort of gratitude that she had enjoyed back when she first got her powers, before people got used to her being able to heal anyone, any time, and began to expect it of her. "You're welcome."

Taylor helped Amy to her feet; Mike made a show of coming around, then stood up with Gladys' assistance. "Wow, thanks. Good as new." He raised his voice to reach everyone. "I'm fine now, thanks. But seriously, don't try that at home." That raised a little laughter.

Danny Hebert stepped up alongside Mark. "So what's going to happen?"

"With Vicky?" Mark grimaced. "She'll probably go someplace and stew about this for a while, then go home and vent to Carol. When I get home, we'll have a talk to her then ground her." He shot a glance at Mike. "Unless you want to have her charged. Which I would totally understand."

Mike seemed to be considering it. "That would screw over New Wave though, wouldn't it?"

Mark nodded resignedly. "It would. What with Amy leaving, if Vicky was arrested for assault and battery with parahuman powers, the press would have a field day. Our image would plummet. It might even lead to the team breaking up."

"You know, you haven't even asked _Amy_ if she wants to have Vicky charged," Taylor observed. "She hurt Amy first."

Amy blinked, surprised. "I – but I didn't even think – she was angry," she began.

"Not a defence," Mike observed. "How bad is it?"

"Nothing's broken," she assured him. "I'll be bruised for a bit, that's all. She doesn't know her own strength."

"You said that before," Taylor pointed out. "And it's wrong. She _should_ know her own strength."

"Also, her aura was on pretty strong out here," Mike said. "Fairly sure a case could be made for assault there, for everyone who felt it."

Mark's face was drawing into deeper and deeper lines. "You're not wrong. She's my daughter, but she's crossed the line in a big way."

"So what happens now?" asked Amy. "Will she be arrested?" _What if she fights back?_

"She _should_ be," Gladys stated fiercely. "She hurt you. She hurt Michael. I don't care who she is. That's just wrong."

"I tend to agree," Mike decided. "She needs to learn that actions have consequences. Before it's too late." He turned to Mark. "If you can get her to turn herself in and not contest any of the charges, I won't make a big noise about it. But if it comes to an actual trial …"

The look of pain on Mark's face made Amy wince in sympathy. _It would destroy everything that he's worked for over the last ten years._

"You're being a lot more reasonable than I would, under the circumstances," Danny told Mike. "But hey, it's your choice."

"Yeah well, that and there's the other stuff coming," Mike reminded him. "Don't want anyone getting sidetracked. This right here? Small potatoes."

"We still need rule of law," Gladys pointed out. "Without that, what's the point?"

Mark sighed. "What's the point, indeed. Okay. I'll try to get her to turn herself in. I'll let you know how it turns out." He turned to Taylor. "Sorry your party was ruined."

Taylor shrugged. "Not your fault. Heck, it probably would have been worse if you weren't here."

Amy thought that wasn't necessarily the most diplomatic thing to say; the grimace that crossed Mark's face confirmed it for her. But he nodded grudgingly. "True." A deep breath. "Amy girl."

"Dad." She decided to give it to him, this once.

"I'm sorry all this happened. I'm sorry you feel you had to get away from the situation. But given this … well, maybe it was for the best all along."

It was Amy's turn to grimace. "I'm thinking maybe if I hadn't left, or hadn't decided that I wanted to be adopted, this wouldn't have happened."

"No." Mike's voice was firm. "You don't ever put aside what's good for yourself for fear that someone else might get all butt-hurt over it. Vicky was a bomb waiting to go off. That's on her, not you."

_Mrs Yamada said almost exactly the same thing to me. Minus the Vicky part, of course. _Amy bit her lip. "But … she's my _sister."_

"Which doesn't make her any more right than you are," Gladys pointed out. "You deserve your own happiness. If Vicky can't see that, then she doesn't deserve to _be_ your sister."

Amy gave her a wan smile. "You must be one hell of a teacher."

"Well, _I_ think so," Taylor observed. "If everyone else at Winslow was like her, I never would have had to change schools."

Gladys didn't answer that one, but she looked pleased and turned a delicate shade of pink.

"Well, I should be going," Mark said. "I need to fill Carol in on what's happened here."

Danny nodded. "See you round. And don't forget, you're always welcome to come over."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." Mark turned and walked toward the side gate; people stepped aside to let him pass.

=/=

**Mike**

Kurt was the next one to approach us. "You sure you're all right there, man?" he asked me directly. "You took one hell of a hit there."

"I did," I acknowledged. "But Amy here's pretty damn good at what she does. Just one thing." I paused for a beat. "Don't _ever _take her for granted."

"Yeah, no," he agreed. He turned to Amy. "You got him back on his feet after a hit like that, you're all right in my book."

"Thanks," she said. I could tell from the way she said it that she was neither embarrassed nor conceited about it. Healing was something she chose to do; if other people saw it as something special, that was their choice.

I nodded to Kurt then turned to Amy. "Mind filling us in on what happened? I'd kinda like to know why I just got pile-driven through Taylor's birthday cake by your sister."

"Oh, no." She put her hand to her mouth. "Taylor, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's no big," Taylor assured her. "Though it _was_ a very nice cake," she added, for Gladys' benefit.

"It really was," I agreed. "But cakes can be replaced. Back to the topic at hand. What happened?"

Amy glanced at Kurt; he got the message. "I'll, uh, I'll be over there," he said, pointing vaguely toward where Lacey was talking to Danny.

Amy watched him go, then turned to Taylor and me. "I thought I'd gotten past the hard part," she confessed. "I told her I was attracted to her, and she took it better than I expected. But then she kept pressing me to come back home and I had to tell her about what you told me. And she started going off about how she didn't know me any more and that I was rejecting her and the team. She started shaking me by the shoulders. So I … well, I couldn't get free, so I calmed her down. Turned off production of the hormones that cause anger."

"So you messed with her brain," I stated. My voice was neutral, not accusatory, but she still winced.

"Well, basically, yeah," she agreed. "But it was purely a temporary thing. As soon as I lost contact with her, the production started up again. Which might have been a bad thing, because when she asked me, I told her what I'd done."

I didn't quite facepalm, but I did close my eyes and put my fingertips to my forehead. "Oh, god."

"What?" asked Taylor. "What's so wrong with that?"

I gave Amy a raised-eyebrows look, coupled with a bright smile. "You recall what you told me awhile ago about how you had that epiphany about Vicky getting her powers because she was terrified of being mentally controlled?"

"Yeah, but what does that … oh. _Oh."_ She did actually facepalm. "I did that, didn't I?"

"Well, from the sounds of it, you were kinda justified, but yeah." I shrugged. "Shit happens."

"Okay, so what should I have done differently?" She gave me a searching look. "You know more about everything than anyone I know. What would you have done with my powers?"

I scratched my chin. "Probably the same thing as you. You had a distinct lack of options. Either let her accidentally injure you or use your powers to pull her up. Now you _could_ have doubled down and made it so she was okay with you doing that, but …"

The look on her face was pure revulsion. "I'd _never_ do that."

"And so." I gave her a measured nod. "You acted with self-control and you didn't cause any permanent changes. I'd say you acquitted yourself pretty well there, kiddo."

"Except that she came after _you,"_ she fretted. "If you'd been normal, she might just have killed you."

"There is that," I agreed. "But let this be a lesson. Sometimes the best outcome of a situation is still a bad outcome. The trick is to see situations like that coming and not get trapped into them."

"And how do you do that?" asked Taylor curiously.

"Got me there," I admitted. "Figure that one out and you'll be ahead of about ninety-nine percent of the human race."

We were interrupted by a polite cough. Looking around, we saw Chris standing there.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Uh, Lance texted what happened to one of his buddies, whose dad saw it. So he contacted everyone else's parents, and now they're coming to pick us up."

"Aww," Taylor said, downcast. "You don't really have to go, you know."

"Yeah, well, Lance is kicking himself," Chris agreed. "This party just got interesting. But when the parental units get into the act, we gotta do what we gotta do."

"Yeah, there is that," I commiserated. "Having a cape battle on the premises does kinda put a new spin on things."

He nodded. "Well, I just wanted to say it's nothing personal. It was a totally rocking party, and I wanted to thank you and Amy for inviting me."

"Well, it was more Amy than me, but I'm glad you were able to show," she replied. "Thanks for, well, being here for the party. What we had of it, anyway."

I nodded. "Actually, Chris," I said, "could I have a word before you go, please?"

Taylor looked at me oddly; I gave her my best innocent look. I was pretty sure she could see through it, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. Amy seemed to have an inkling of what I was on about, but of course she couldn't say anything in front of Taylor.

"Uh, sure," he agreed, sounding slightly puzzled. "What's the matter?" We took a few steps away from the girls and he turned to me. "If this is about Taylor, sir -"

I shook my head, lowering my voice. "Nope. Taylor can take care of herself. This is about you."

"Me?" He looked somewhat startled. "What about me?"

He got a very dry look for that. "You can drop the act. I know who you are. You _know_ I know who you are."

He blinked a few times. "What? Uh, how do you know? What gave me away?"

"Well, apart from Amy just about bursting at the seams waiting to see if Taylor figured it out?" I shrugged. "You forget who I am and where I'm from."

"Right, right," he began, then stared at me. "Wait, what? I could see Amy was acting a little weird, but I figured it was because she wanted the party to go well."

_Whoops. _"Uh …"

"So why would Taylor figure it out, and why would Amy want her to?" His voice was suspicious now.

I had to put a stop to this, or at least a temporary hold. "Okay, time out. This is not why I pulled you aside. There's a more important matter at hand here."

He paused. " … okay." But I could tell that he wasn't going to let it go. _Me and my big mouth._

"Okay. Just as soon as you get away from here, you're gonna be writing up a report of what happened here for the Director, yeah?"

A nod. "Yeah. She's gonna want to know all the details."

"Figured." I chose my next words carefully. "I need you to slow that report down."

He looked confused. "What?"

I patted the air in a downward motion. "Slow it down. Don't get it to her as fast as you otherwise might. Don't _not_ do it, but, well, sit on it for a bit. Polish it up. Give it a few hours before you forward it on to her. You get me?"

"Okay, I get what you're saying," he said, "but … why?"

"Because she was kind of provoked," I explained. "She had a reason, sort of, for what she did. Not a _great_ reason, but a reason. Anger issues plus, well, what happened in the house. If you could put that in the report too, that would be great. But what I _want_ is to give her a chance to calm down and turn herself in before the Protectorate and Wards are mobilised to bring her in by force."

He was a smart kid; by the time I finished, he was nodding. "Yeah, I see that," he said. "If they have to actually go out and arrest her, it'll go a lot worse for her."

"Exactly and precisely," I agreed.

"But why are you even asking me this?" he asked. "I mean, she's my friend, and I like her and all, but you barely know her. She tried to kill you just before, and you're still willing to give her this chance?"

"Well, just between you and me, I'm a bit tougher than that," I confided. "I kind of played it up for the crowd. But even if it hadn't been for show, I'd still want to give her the chance. One screwup shouldn't mean curtains."

"Wow, sure, okay," he said. "I can do that. I can't hold it off forever, but I can give her a little bit of time."

"Good man," I told him. "I appreciate it."

"Not a problem." He looked searchingly at me. "So what was that about Taylor, anyway?"

_Crap._ "Uh, maybe you should talk to her and Amy about it, tomorrow at school." I was being a craven coward and I knew it. But there was no way I was going to out Taylor without her knowledge. Which meant that I'd have to tell her that I'd half-spilled the beans to Chris already. And _that_ was another conversation I wasn't looking forward to, at all.

"Okay." He still didn't look satisfied, but thankfully didn't press the issue. I watched him turn and walk away.

"So what was that all about?" asked Taylor, from beside me. "You seriously weren't warning him to keep his hands to himself around me, right?"

"Heh, no." I grinned. "You're well able to take care of yourself in that regard. And in any case, that'd be your dad's job, not mine."

"Okay, so what _was_ it about?" She tilted her head slightly. "Because you've always got reasons for the things you do, no matter how weird they are."

"Yeah. I do. In this case, I was asking him for a favour."

I didn't think that would shut her up, and I was right. "He's just a kid from my school. What do you want from him?" She blinked. "Or is he someone special?"

I glanced around; Amy was standing right there, but nobody else was in earshot. I gave Amy a mock glare. "This is your fault. Suppose you explain to her why you've been grinning like a loon since Chris got here."

"Oh, that's easy," Taylor put in. "She wanted him to ask me on a date or something. I figured that one out pretty quickly."

I didn't answer her directly; instead, I gave Amy a meaningful look and cleared my throat.

"Okay, _fine,"_ the biokinetic huffed. "I wanted you to figure out who he was."

"Chris?" Taylor looked puzzled. "Okay, I give up. Who _is_ he?"

Amy rolled her eyes. _"Kid Win,_ you doofus."

Taylor looked startled. "You're _kidding."_

"No, she's not," I said. "And because she was playing that up, I kind of let slip to him that Amy wanted you to guess. Which almost kind of outs you. And he's likely to be asking you two tomorrow what the heck's going on. So it's up to you to either give him the runaround or unmask. Your choice."

"Wait, he's a _cape?"_ Taylor seemed to be stuck on that point.

"Yeah, and I kinda can't believe you didn't guess," Amy chuckled. "You've _worked_ with him."

"Yeah, but I don't look for peoples' secret identities," Taylor reminded her. "Okay, so he knows that something's up, but he doesn't know what."

"Yeah." I nodded. "Up to you to tell him. He's a good kid, and he's already used to keeping everyone else's identities. It _would_ be safe with him. It's just up to you as to whether you're comfortable with the idea."

Taylor nodded back. "Right. Okay. Thanks for letting me know."

"You know, you _could_ be a little peeved at me for doing that," I pointed out.

"Okay, fine," she said cheerfully. "Every fly and every bug from here on in that bothers you? It's special delivery from me."

I grinned at her. "Now that's more like it." Lifting my fist, I offered it; she bumped it, returning the grin.

"Wow, so much for the party," Amy observed. I looked around; Danny was shaking hands with Kurt as the Dockworker left with his wife. Apart from Taylor's father, Gladys and I were the only adults still there.

"So will you be going too?" asked Taylor.

"Not quite yet," I said. "There's still the presents to unwrap."

She made a face. "Not sure if I'm up to it. The party did sort of crash to a halt."

"Hey." I waited till she was looking at me. "Trust me, at least one of these presents you're gonna want to see."

Amy nudged her. "Come _on."_

Taylor stuck out her tongue at me. "Okay, fine. You bullied me into it."

Amy stuck out her fist; I bumped it.

=/=

**Taylor**

"So I've got to ask," Taylor commented, as she took her seat at the table. The pile of presents in the middle wasn't huge, but it was larger than it had been for years. "What would my birthday have been like in the other world?"

Mike snorted. "What birthday? On this day, you were fully engaged with chasing the Slaughterhouse Nine out of Brockton Bay." He nodded to Danny. _"You_ were in the hospital, given that Shatterbird had sung her song and you'd been injured as a result."

"And me?" asked Amy.

Mike grimaced. "Let's just say that you were in a pretty bad place, and getting worse all the time."

Taylor looked at the expression on her best friend's face, and impulsively hugged her. "But you're not, because you're here," she pointed out.

"Should I ask where I was?" asked Gladys.

Mike shrugged. "You were safe. I don't recall you being injured at that point."

"Okay, enough what-ifs," her father said. "There are presents to be opened, and the birthday girl is talking about stuff that's never going to happen."

"Okay, _fine," _Taylor retorted. "I was just enjoying the sight of the pile. Okay, what's _this_ one?" She grabbed a kind of floppy square one; it had Gladys' name on it. The paper tore free, and she unfolded a T-shirt with a screen-print of a strange spider-like symbol on it.

"Hah!" Mike chuckled. "Nice one."

"Thank you," Gladys murmured, looking pleased with herself. "It took me some time to locate it, let me tell you."

"Spiderman," Danny explained, as Taylor tried to puzzle it out. "A comic book hero that kind of went out of style when we got real ones."

"Well, I love it," Taylor declared, holding it up against herself. "What do you think, Amy?"

Amy smirked. "It's very you."

"Now I don't know if you're being serious." Taylor narrowed her eyes for a second, then grinned. "Oh, who cares. It's a cool shirt. I'm gonna wear it to school tomorrow. See if Chris guesses anyway."

More presents were unwrapped. Chris and a couple of the others had given her books; it appeared that they had been paying attention when she talked about books. They were ones she hadn't read, in the genres she liked. _I'm definitely going to have to thank them tomorrow._

A small present, marked with just the letter 'A', turned out to be a delicately worked golden orb spider on a chain. This earned Amy a hug that made her squeak with protest. Taylor insisted that her best friend put it on her immediately; it did actually set her dress off rather well.

Her father had gotten her a brand new mobile phone, which she took out of the case and examined closely. "Wow, Dad," she exclaimed. "How much did this set you back by?"

"Don't ask," he advised her. "Just use it wisely."

"He says to the teenage girl," Mike pointed out dryly, earning him a poked-out tongue from Taylor. From the movement of Amy's leg, she kicked him in the shin at the same time.

"Wow," Mike observed. "I think I just felt one of your mosquitoes brush my ankle, Taylor. Tell it to come back, it might get me this time." This time, Amy poked her tongue out as well, while Danny and Gladys both chuckled.

"Still one left," Danny pointed out helpfully, indicating the postage tube.

"Yeah, I know." Taylor had been trying to figure that one out since she sat down. It was from Mike; she knew that much. What she _didn't_ know was what was in it.

Finally, she let her fingers grab it and tear off the outer wrapping. Holding it up, causing Mike to duck, not entirely by accident – _payback's a bitch –_ she felt something sliding down the length of it. When she worked the end off of it, the object slid out and dropped into her hand, revealing itself as a pepper-spray tube, the high-intensity type that Mike had given her before.

"Wow, cool, thanks," she said, holding it up. "But wasn't it a bit of overkill to put it in a mailing tube?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah, it would be. If that was the only thing in there."

"Ooh, let me see." Putting the pepper spray down, she slid her hand into the tube until she felt the change in texture of the side, then dragged the contents out. It turned out to be a large poster of some sort, with a rubber band wrapped around it. "What is it?"

Mike gave her an irritating grin. "Have a look. I think this is something you've needed for a while."

"Okay …" She slid the rubber band off of it and unrolled it. At first the picture made no sense.

"What?" Amy tilted her head to one side. "What _is_ it?"

And then Taylor got it. She turned it ninety degrees, and burst out laughing. "Holy crap! You took _photos!"_

"I did," agreed Mike cheerfully. "It was only fair, after she tried to kill me."

For the poster was a full-sized shot of Shadow Stalker, bound up with Christmas lights. Taylor couldn't see her expression, given that she was wearing a full-face mask, but she could just imagine it. She was laughing so hard that she had to sit down; Amy took the poster from her and examined it. "This is real?" she asked. "Shadow Stalker really tried to kill you?"

"Yes, Michael," Gladys asked him. "A superhero tried to kill you and you didn't tell me?"

"We barely knew each other then," he protested. "I didn't want you worrying."

She took his hand. "I would much rather know, and worry, than not know, and find out later."

Humbly, he nodded. "Yes, dear."

"So this is really real?" asked Amy for the second time.

"Sure as hell," Taylor answered, still giggling. "He broke up a bullying attempt and made her look pretty bad. Got her suspended. She came around that night and tried to kill him."

"Which I kind of anticipated," Mike pointed out. "I had a plan."

"Not all of your plans have turned out exactly as you wanted," Gladys noted.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I know. But that one did. Thankfully. So once I had her subdued, I zip-tied her then wrapped her in Christmas lights."

"But why Christmas lights?" asked Gladys. "Not that it doesn't make it a very festive photo, but I don't see the point."

"Mike explained this one to me," Taylor said happily. "Electricity. If she phases through something that's got a charge running through it, she gets zapped big-time."

"Oh. _Oh."_ Gladys' gaze upon Mike softened somewhat. "So I see you were thinking ahead. Mostly."

Danny examined the poster. "I have to say, I probably won't get as much satisfaction out of this as Taylor will, but I do like it. A lot." He nodded to Mike. "Nicely done."

"Thanks," Mike replied with a return nod. "I've been waiting for _months_ to give it to her." He grinned at Taylor. "I take it you like it."

In reply, Taylor got out of her chair, rounded the table, and hugged him fiercely. "I _love_ it. Thank you. Thank you so much. Just seeing it makes my whole _year."_

"Well, good," he said. "I -"

At that moment, his phone went off. "Huh, I wonder who's texting me now," he muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket. "About everyone I know is in this room."

He thumbed it on and tapped in his PIN, then opened up the text. In the next moment, Taylor saw something she never wanted to see; his face turning almost dead white.

"What is it?" she asked.

For an answer, he held the phone up so that everyone could see the screen.

**GET OUT NOW.**

A sudden golden glow glared in through the window as he opened his mouth. "Doorway -"

* * *

End of Part Forty-Nine


	50. Chapter 50

**Security!**

* * *

Part Fifty: Tying Up Loose Ends

* * *

_[A/N: This one will jump around a little. Pay close attention to the dates.]_

* * *

**Brockton Bay  
A Certain Apartment**

**Thursday, May 5, 2011**

_[This takes place six days after the events of Chapter 47]_

The woman knocked on the apartment door, feeling a little silly. Normally, she would have simply had a Doorway appear in the living room, and stepped through it. But an invitation had been extended, so propriety would be observed.

The door opened; the man she had come to see gestured her inside. "Come on in. Have a seat. There's cookies on the table."

"I'm not here for the cookies. You said this was important," she told him a little tartly, and took a seat at the table. But as the tin _was_ right there, she opened it and took one anyway. It turned out to be chocolate chip, and rather tasty.

"Well, not _just _for the cookies, no," he agreed with the hint of a grin, taking a seat opposite her. "There's other stuff we need to talk about. Cauldron business."

She sat up a little. "Maybe we should get Doctor Mother or Alexandria in on this. Or both."

A shake of the head. "No. This is just from me to you. It'll be up to you to present it to the others."

Curiosity got the better of her natural reserve. "Okay, so what's the problem?" Knowing him, it would not be trivial.

"Before we get to that, fill me in. How's things going with the recruiting and training?"

Leaning back, she let her eyes travel over the interior of the apartment as she gathered her thoughts. There, on a shelf, was his collection of poseable action figures, right next to where his plastic Armsmaster halberd was leaning against the wall. "I'm cautiously optimistic. Most of the people at the address took you seriously. When they left, we gave them the means to contact us. We're getting more on board every day. There are some who are refusing to help on general principles, but they're few and far between."

He took a cookie from the tin for himself. "I suppose that'll happen. So how's the _other_ recruiting effort going?"

"As well as can be expected. They made the approach a couple of days after your address."

* * *

**Baumann Parahuman Detention Centre (AKA 'The Birdcage')  
British Columbia**

**Monday, May 2, 2011**

Marquis folded his arms and leaned back against his seat as Alexandria finished speaking. "So that's the way it is."

She gave him a precise nod. "That's exactly the way it is." Flanking her, Legend and Eidolon nodded in agreement.

He pursed his lips. "So what you just told us is accurate?"

She frowned. "I quoted it verbatim from his speech at the time. Nothing of a significant nature was left out."

"But how do you know that _he_ was telling the truth?" That was Lustrum; once upon a time a cult leader whose followers had maimed and killed men because of her teachings, she now looked more like a soccer mom than a dangerous criminal. "Men will lie for their own ends. We all know that." Behind her, those members of her cell-block whom she had brought along murmured their agreement.

"So will women," Marquis retorted, but the lightness of his tone took the sting out of it. "The question you have to ask yourself is this. _Why_ would this 'Security' even advocate letting some of us out? I have no knowledge of a plot to allow us to escape. And in fact, the lovely Alexandria here has stated that the Thinkers among us will _not_ be offered the same chance."

"Which seems a little unfair to those of us who are deemed incapable of contributing to the war effort," put in Teacher, a balding man with a homely face.

"Actually, I've been given specific instructions to do with you," Alexandria told him. "If you leave the Birdcage, a kill order will immediately be placed upon your head. That's from Director Costa-Brown herself."

"What?" blurted Teacher. "But I _can_ contribute."

"Let me make it as clear as I can." Alexandria stepped toward him. "If at any time I find that you have left the Birdcage, I will _personally_ hunt you down and kill you myself."

That raised a murmur of voices that echoed from the concrete buttresses supporting the ceiling of the area in which they were gathered. The Triumvirate let it go on, watching instead for signs of aggression. None eventuated, which wasn't overly surprising. Powerful the inhabitants of the Birdcage might be, but against the might of the Triumvirate, any sort of attack would be remarkably short-lived.

"But that's not fair!" blustered Teacher.

"It's quite simple." Eidolon's voice was harsh. "You can't be trusted. We _know_ that for a fact."

"Who says?"

"The same man who gave us the plan of attack," Alexandria stated. "He told us what you had been planning to do, if you ever got out. You are _never_ getting out."

"But -"

"Be silent, Tutor." The speaker was a girl still a few years short of adulthood, but the words were spoken in a chorus of voices. Those capes near her stepped back in a combination of fear and respect. "I would hear what our guests have to say on the matter."

Alexandria bent her head in a modicum of respect. "Glaistig Uaine," she greeted the newcomer. "You heard the words of the man called Security?"

"They are the words of one who knows the truth," replied the Faerie Queen in her multi-tonal voice. "He knows more than he should. He is from beyond the veil."

"That's what he says, yes," Eidolon agreed. "But we didn't say -"

"You did not need to, High Priest." The face was youthful, but the eyes held the wisdom of someone much older. "I felt him arrive. His time is nearly done. Before he falls, he will bring down the false god."

Eidolon blinked. "The false god … Scion?"

She gave him a level stare. "Did I not just say so?"

Alexandria cleared her throat politely. "Faerie Queen. We have need of your strength to battle Scion. But there will be a plan of attack. Orders will be given. Will you follow those orders?"

"Give me leave to harvest the spirits of those who fall upon the battlefield, and I will." Glaistig Uaine's voice was gracious, as if granting a great boon.

"Harvest only the, uh, _spirits_ of those who are actually dead, and it's a deal." Legend's tone was polite but firm.

The Faerie Queen nodded. "My word upon it."

"Good." Alexandria surveyed the rest of the assembled capes. "It's simple. Those of you who are on our list have a chance to leave as well."

"Allow me to guess," Marquis drawled. "Just so long as we agree to go up against Scion for you."

"_Alongside_ us," Eidolon corrected him. "You won't be used as suicide troops. Training will be supplied. Your powers will be used intelligently. Healing will be supplied for the injured. Once we win -"

"You mean, _if_ we win," drawled, Marquis, a slightly mocking smile on his face.

"_Once_ we win," Eidolon repeated, gritting his teeth just a little, "those of you who have comported yourselves properly will get a pardon. But make no mistake; re-offend and you're straight back in here. This is your last _last_ chance to get out of the Birdcage. We'll give you a day to think about it, then we'll be back."

"Oh, and just by the way?" added Legend. "If any Changers or Strangers are thinking of hitching rides with us on the way out, don't. We'll be going through some very hostile environments on the way back, just to make sure." To underline his point, he pulled a simple breather mask from his belt and fitted it over his mouth. At the same time, lasers began playing over him at skin level.

Just as Alexandria was fitting an identical mask over her face, Marquis approached her. "A word in private, dear lady?" he asked quietly.

She pulled the mask back down again. "Yes?" she asked, stepping aside with him until they were out of casual earshot.

"I was just wondering … what year _is_ it, out there? We tend to lose track, in here."

Alexandria didn't see any harm in telling him. "Two thousand eleven. May the second. A Monday."

"Oh." He seemed a little taken aback. "I had thought it would be two thousand ten at the latest. I … well, I had a daughter. She would be almost seventeen by now. When I was captured by the Brigade, they took custody of her. Her name is Amelia. Do you know of her?"

Alexandria rubbed her lips lightly. "I do. If this is the same Amelia that I'm thinking of, she was adopted by Flashbang and Brandish, and raised as their daughter."

His eyes widened slightly in hope. "How is she? Is she well?"

She considered what to tell him. "She has powers. A healer. A considerably versatile one. At the moment … yes, I believe that she is happy."

Marquis sighed. "Good God. A healer."

"She's saved many lives. Done much to alleviate the pain and suffering of those around her." She gave him a steady look. "Her name is as celebrated as yours is reviled. You might want to consider that."

Turning, she stepped away from him, fitting the mask over her face again. "Doorway," she murmured, "Earth Zeta."

They would, of course, not go straight back to Earth Bet. There was still the promised trip through various hostile environments; the first one was a hundred miles straight up, on the edge of atmosphere. After that would come the ocean depths and a dip in molten lava, just to make sure.

* * *

**Brockton Bay  
That Same Apartment**

**Thursday, May 5, 2011**

"And they agreed?"

"They did," she confirmed. "After all, it's not like they _wanted_ to stay in there."

A judicious nod. "Anyone tried to duck out or otherwise escape after they were released?"

"A few. We were watching for that. They're back in the Birdcage."

"Good." He rubbed his beard. "Actually, what about about active opposition in the ones from the address? I mean, they were _warned, _but …"

"There _have_ been a few cases," she admitted carefully. "We've taken care of them before they became a danger."

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean you're killing them, right?"

"Not in every case. Not even in most cases." She gestured, using the cookie as emphasis. "If I can find a way for them to be useful, they get to live. But if they intend to be a consistent problem … well, we already have too much in the way of odds against us now to allow that."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Myself and the Number Man, mostly." The admission hurt; feeling uncomfortable at this line of conversation, she stood up and crossed to the shelf holding the action figures. He had posed Clockblocker so that the teen hero appeared to be beating Shadow Stalker over the head with Kid Win's hoverboard. _Very funny._

"Huh," he said. "Haven't met him yet. Not sure if I want to shake his hand or clock him one for being part of the Nine, once upon a time."

A brief smile crossed her face as she turned back toward him. "He doesn't really want to meet you. He sees the world as numbers, and it's his opinion that meeting you would make the numbers go crazy. That's not something he wants to experience." Returning to the table, she lowered herself back into the chair, her mind focused on a more important question. "Do _you_ have a problem with us killing people?"

"Once upon a time, I might have said yes," he observed mildly. "But people _will_ be dicks, and I don't feel like letting that screw us up, especially if there's no other way around it."

Another cookie went the way of the others. This one was a jam drop. "I've killed people before, of course."

"Of course," was the immediate reply.

"But it's always been part of a Path. To get something else done."

"Not that I fully agree with all of your methods," he noted. "But you've always had the one goal in mind. Save the world. By whatever means."

"Unfortunately, we've had to try a lot of things that fall under 'whatever means', and many of those have been less than effective." This was both easy and hard to admit; easy because her host undoubtedly knew all about it. Hard because he obviously didn't approve.

"Also less than ethical. Such as abducting people, force-feeding them Cauldron formulas, and wiping their memories." His tone was heavy with sarcasm. "And I'm not even gonna _start_ on the Nemesis program."

"Hey, that wasn't _my_ idea." Being on the defensive was distasteful, especially with this man. With anyone else, she could respond with _well, at least I'm doing __**something**__ to save the world._ Here, in this place, even that line would not work, given that he had the perfect comeback.

"Oh, I figured." A shrug. "And I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time to the idiot whose bright idea it really was." One corner of his mouth quirked upward. "Mind you, I'm wondering how good an idea it would seem if they were locked in a room with all of the Nemesis capes."

Her grimace was heartfelt. "I get it, I get it. We've all done unforgivable things."

"You know how to start to earn forgiveness?" He stretched, then got up. "I know two things you've got to do."

"Which are?" _It can't be this easy._

Strolling over to where the plastic halberd leaned against the wall, he unfolded it and mimed a few swings and thrusts. "Fix your shit, and win the damn war."

_I was right._ "By 'fix' you mean …"

"Rehabilitate every Case 53 you've ever created; the ones that are still alive anyway. Pull all the Nemesis capes back in from wherever they are. They _specifically_ don't deserve this. Restore their memories if you can. Put them back home if they want to go. If they don't, give them a place to live free. It won't be enough, not to them, but at least they'll be out of that prison you've built."

The flash of intuition that hit her then had nothing to do with her powers. "Is this what you wanted me to come over to talk about?"

The halberd went back against the wall and he sat down once more. "Yup."

"It might not be as good an idea as you think." Lacking a Path to convince him, she fell back on truth. "There's a theory that Case 53s make it hard for Scion to analyse an area. Keeping them in our base is a good way to mask it from him."

"Oh, I intend to use that. Just not _there."_ His tone was verging on the impatient. "We want him to find the place, remember?"

"Is destroying our main base of operations, the source of our formulas, really the best idea?" Her tone was almost plaintive.

Abruptly, he leaned forward, slapping his palms on the table with a _crack_. _"Yes."_

Startled, she reared back, dropping the cookie she was holding. "Christ, don't _do_ that." _He could have reached out and snapped my neck, and I wouldn't have even seen it coming._ Her heart was beating more rapidly than it had for quite a while.

"Then _listen_ to me. There's a very faint outside chance that, with the right power use, he could _revive_ her. _Two _of them, with their plan back on track. How do you think we would fare _then?"_

Chills ran all the way down her back. She had no way of _knowing_ that he was telling the truth, but her instincts told her that it was so. " … All right, then. We go with that plan."

"Good. Now, I've had a few ideas about it, and you'll no doubt come up with a few more. But this is the basic concept …"

* * *

**Lord Street Market, Brockton Bay  
Saturday, May 28, 2011**

_[This takes place two weeks after the Leviathan no-show in Chapter 48]_

Lily had never been so nervous in her life. Even on her worst day in the Wards, facing heavily-armed opponents, she'd always had a plan and an exit strategy. Right here, right now, she had nothing except faith.

She'd waited two whole weeks for Sabah to call. These had been perhaps the longest two weeks in her life. Even the short time she had spent with the other woman had left her with the need to know more about her, to see her again. Being told that Sabah had the potential to become her soulmate, had indeed been just that in another world, had only heightened the worry.

_What if she doesn't call?_

When the phone had rung on Friday night and Lily heard Sabah's voice once more, she nearly dropped the phone, but managed at the last moment to answer in a more or less controlled fashion. Sabah had been nervous; Lily could hear it in the tone of voice. This wasn't surprising, given that she had been just as nervous. However, as they talked, the nerves eased, and soon they were chatting like old friends. But it took an hour of wide-ranging subjects before Sabah had diffidently suggested that perhaps they might meet up someplace on the weekend …?

_Yes,_ Lily had replied. _Yes. I'd like that._ She'd suggested the Market; her teammates in the Wards had said good things about it, and she wanted to see it for herself. Sabah had agreed, and a time was agreed upon.

Lily had turned up half an hour early, and promptly spent a good deal of that time torturing herself with possibilities. _What if she doesn't show? What if she decides to back out at the last moment?_

She had to have faith that Sabah would show up. Faith that she wouldn't leave Lily hanging.

_I want to see if this can work. But if she doesn't show, then what do I do? Go to the College and ask her why?_ That would never happen, and she knew it.

Standing up from the seat where she had been waiting, Lily reflexively smoothed down her clothes. While she preferred jeans and a T-shirt, she figured that this occasion rated a blouse and skirt. They were perhaps the nicest clothes she owned, and she hoped that they conveyed a sense of 'approachable'.

_Of course, she needs to actually __**be**__ here to approach me._

A nearby slushie stall caught her eye; Lily licked her suddenly-dry lips, deciding that she was thirsty enough to buy one. Judging the flow of foot traffic, it was easy enough to step through the empty gaps as if the people were standing still – _sometimes my power is good for something other than combat –_ until she ended up at the stall.

"Hi there," the teenage boy running the stall greeted her. He smiled a little more widely than he had with his other customers. _Well, __**he**__ likes my clothes. That's a good start._ "What can I get you?"

"Oh, uh …" She paused, struck by indecision. _This is not like me. Pull yourself together, Lily._

"She'll have a Raspberry Surprise," a voice announced from beside her, a voice that Lily had been beginning to wonder if she would ever hear again. "And so will I." Startled, she looked around; there stood Sabah, rather fetchingly attired in a slightly oversized t-shirt and what looked like a pair of brand-new denim jeans. She was holding out a ten-dollar note toward the boy.

"Two Raspberry Surprises coming up," the boy said; he accepted the money and turned to his machines.

"Hi." Lily's throat tightened up, making her voice squeak at the end. She took a deep breath, then tried again. "Uh, hi. You made it."

Sabah smiled at her. It might have been Lily's imagination, but the expression spoke volumes; relief that Lily was there, lingering nerves, but above all, hope for what might happen. "It was touch and go, but I decided to chance it. After all, it worked for us once."

"That's what the man told us." Lily looked at Sabah, drinking in the sight of her. A little shorter than Lily, the Middle Eastern girl – woman, rather – had a certain self-contained air about her. It was as if she maintained an invisible boundary around herself, a defence against the world, that stated 'this far, and no further'. Lily found it endearing; she wanted to wrap her arms around Sabah and protect her from the world forever.

Sabah's face darkened with a blush. "You're staring at me."

Lily smothered a giggle, trying to hide her own blush behind her hand. "You're wearing a t-shirt and jeans."

An eyebrow arched. "And what is the problem with that?"

The boy cleared his throat. "Uh, your slushies, and your change, miss?"

They took their drinks to a nearby table and sat down. Lily leaned forward, catching a whiff of Sahah's perfume. _She put perfume on for me._ "There's no problem. I just didn't see you as a t-shirt and jeans sort of person."

Sabah smiled, a bright flash of teeth against dark skin. "And I didn't see you as a blouse and skirt sort of person."

Lily took a slurp of her drink and then rolled her eyes. "This is _so_ good. No, I wore these because I thought that's what you'd like to see me in."

The delighted laugh startled her; Sabah's face lit up with amusement. "And I wore this because I thought _you'd_ like it."

Lily's return snort of laughter narrowly missing ejecting raspberry slushie from her nose. "Oh god, that's hilarious."

They drank their slushies, chatting in between sips, and smothering the occasional nervous giggle. Around them, the crowd surged back and forth, ebbing and flowing like the tide. There were adults doing their shopping, teenagers moving in packs and on their own, and the occasional serious-looking man or woman in what she figured had to be a security uniform. But Lily only had eyes for Sabah.

Eventually, she pushed her drink aside. "Okay, that's enough for me. How about you show me the rest of the Market? I've only seen a little bit of it, but some of those shops look _fascinating."_

"Well, uh …" Sabah didn't look up at her, instead seeming intent on toying with her slushie cup, turning it by degrees with just her fingertips.

Lily spread her hands. "What?"

Sabah took a deep breath, finally lifting her eyes to Lily's. "Would you like to take a walk along the Boardwalk instead? Away from the crowds? I don't much like crowds."

Lily smiled. _And we get to walk, and talk, and maybe even hold hands._ "You're the boss."

* * *

**Somewhere in the Multiverse  
Thursday, June 2, 2011**

Surf pounded on the rocks at the base of the cliff, filling the air with the smell of salt and seaweed. Gulls wheeled and screeched overhead as the sun peeped over the eastern horizon. Wispy clouds punctuated the vast blue vault of the sky. A pair of mismatched figures made their way along the clifftop, treading the short scrubby grass underfoot.

While he was tall and bulky, wearing a T-shirt and jacket and jeans, she was more petite, her clothes neat but not overly formal. Her long black hair whipped like a banner in the freshening onshore breeze, in contrast with his greying beard and closely-trimmed scalp.

The man stopped to watch as a sea bird dipped close to the water; there was a brief splash, then it was up and away again, a struggling silvery form clutched in its claws.

"Nicely done," he noted admiringly.

"Uh uh," the woman murmured, pointing. "Watch."

He watched; another bird came down in a long swoop. As it neared the first, it screeched loud and long. Startled, the first bird dropped its prize, which was snatched out of the air by the second.

Watching the victor winging its way into the distance, he shook his head. "That's what I call a dick move."

"It's what they do." She shrugged. "It's what people do, too."

"True." He looked at her, tilting his head. "Talking about people being dicks, how's Eidolon doing in therapy?"

"Not badly at all," she decided. "He's really putting his heart into it now."

"Oh, _good." _His voice was heartfelt.

"Agreed." Hers was dry. "I think the fact that we haven't had an Endbringer attack in quite some time has really brought it home to him. Now all he has to do is get over the guilt."

His smile didn't hold much in the way of humour. "Took him long enough to pull his head out of his arse."

"But he did. And if he can actually gain conscious control of the Endbringers …" She didn't need to finish.

"It would be a huge asset, yeah," Mike agreed. "Of course, we still have to get that asset into play. And hope that he doesn't lose control once it's out there in the wild."

"_Thank_ you," Contessa retorted dryly. "I needed something else to worry about."

"Sharing is caring," he said cheerfully. "Just remember, there was a time when I carried the entire plan in my head."

She raised an immaculate eyebrow. "Try enduring thirty years of trying one stab in the dark after another, having no assurance at all that anything would work, not even being sure of how to begin to approach the idea in the first place."

Mike snorted. "Okay. You win."

They walked a little way on in a companionable silence. The cliff edge was rising here, chunks of stone poking from the dirt providing irregular steps. He allowed Contessa to take the lead, and stepped where she did. The wind whipped around them, stirring the short grass and blowing her hair from one point to another.

By mutual silent agreement, they stopped at an outcropping of boulders; Mike seated himself on a larger one, while Contessa sat next to him. Side by side, they looked out to sea, at the endless waves rolling in to smash themselves against the unyielding cliff below. He reached into his jacket and produced a packet of cookies; hearing the crinkle, she reached over and took one.

"Thank you," she murmured. "It's nice to just relax. To be _able_ to relax."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't be relaxing just yet," Mike said. "We're still a long way from being certain we can win."

"I meant here and now." She jabbed him lightly with her elbow. "Because my power can't model you, except in the broad abstract, I can't run a Path to influence your perceptions of me. Besides, you already know everything significant there is to know about me. I can relax and be myself around you, because I have no real secrets. Not from you."

"And this doesn't bother you?" He was leaning back against a rock, his eyes closed, his voice lazy.

"It did at first, especially once I found out what you really were," Contessa said. "But … I suppose I've learned to trust you. Which is a first for me. Normally, I _know_ if I can trust someone."

"Plus, there's the cookies." The skin creased around Mike's faded blue eyes as he grinned at her.

"The cookies _are_ nice," she agreed. "I never know what you're going to get. It's always a pleasant surprise."

"Good to hear. I aim to please."

"How are your other pet projects going?" Contessa asked in her turn.

"As you might put it, I'm cautiously optimistic," Mike said. "I visited New York last week, to see …"

* * *

**New York City  
Friday, May 27, 2011**

"Kay?" It was Arthur calling out from the living room.

"In here," she replied, keeping her voice down in deference to the sleeping Aster. In her arms, Keith clutched at the bottle, working to empty it of its contents.

A moment later, the man himself appeared at the door to the nursery. "Oh, there you are, sweetie," he said, also moderating his tone. "We have a visitor."

_Huh?_ "Who?"

"He said his name is Mike. A friend of yours. He's coming up in the lift now."

"Mike?" She walked from the nursery, still feeding Keith his bottle. "Did he say anything about 'Security'?"

"Actually, now that you mention it, I believe he did," Arthur agreed. "Is this _the_ Security …"

"If it's the same person I'm thinking of, yes," she said.

He looked a little distressed. "The place is a mess. What will he think of us?"

Hitching Keith up in her arms a little, she gave Arthur a reassuring smile. "It's okay. He's not someone to be worried about that sort of thing." And to be honest, the apartment wasn't _messy_, just casually disarranged, as happened with any living space.

A moment later, a knock sounded on the door. "And that'll be him now," Kayden observed unnecessarily.

Arthur opened the door; Kayden recognised the man as soon as he entered. "Michael," she greeted him warmly. "It's good to see you."

"You too, Kayden," he said. "And I'm guessing you're Arthur?"

"I am indeed," Arthur replied, shaking the proffered hand. "I've heard a lot about you. Have you come in from Brockton Bay?"

"Something like that," Mike agreed. "Just thought I'd drop over and see how things are doing here." He took a closer look at the infant in Kayden's arms. "Um … is my memory playing up? Because that doesn't look like Aster to me."

Kayden smiled. "No. This is Keith."

"Oh, of course." He looked at Arthur. "You and Legend adopted, yeah?"

Arthur blinked. "How did you know _that?"_

A chuckle escaped Kayden. "Believe me, he knows these things."

"Less so these days," Mike reminded her. "Butterflies the size of pterodactyls."

She decided to not question that particularly obscure statement. "So how are you doing these days?" She eyed his forearms, frowning slightly. "Those scars look fresh."

"Yeah." Reflexively, he rubbed the fading red marks on his arms. "You know the drill. Did some silly stuff. Already been yelled at. But enough about me. How's things with you?"

"Aster and I are doing well." She paused, considering. "Theo's still visiting every weekend. We put him up in the spare room. Legend and Arthur don't seem to mind."

"Of course not," Arthur declared. "He's a good boy, if a little quiet."

"Well, there _is_ the alternative," Mike pointed out. "Long hair, tattoos, a surly attitude and loud heavy metal music."

Kayden and Arthur both shuddered at the same time. "Yeah, no, I don't think so," she declared. "I mean, I'd love for him to talk back to me just once in a while, but I really don't want to be dealing with the typical rebellious teen." Keith had finished the bottle; she handed it off to Arthur, put Keith up to her shoulder, and expertly burped him.

"Very true," Arthur agreed. "We had a fascinating conversation on medieval religious symbolism the last time he visited. He's very well-read. That's something to be proud of." He smiled at Kayden. "I have to admit, I was just a little dubious at first about Kay moving in, but it's all turned out quite well. We trade recipes and take turns with the housework. And Aster is an absolute treasure."

"And of course, having someone with previous experience with taking care of a baby would have helped just a bit when you adopted Keith, yeah?" asked Mike with a grin of his own. "Not to mention a son who can babysit when he comes down for the weekend."

Kayden smirked. "Well, they didn't say no to either one."

"To be honest, I'm surprised he doesn't come down more often," Arthur noted. "We've made it clear that he's always welcome. And he doesn't _have_ to babysit if he doesn't want to."

"I'm not." Kayden shrugged. "He has friends of his own age there. I'm just happy to see him on the weekends."

Mike nodded. "I think he needs both worlds. It's as close as he can come to having a normal life right now. I actually went to see him the other day …"

* * *

**Brockton Bay PRT HQ Training Room  
Tuesday, May 23, 2011**

Theo Anders sidled between the drifting clouds of utter blackness. He felt rather than heard the whine of a bug as it flew past, then doubled back and settled on his shoulder. _Uh oh._

The attack came out of nowhere, the slender figure bursting through a curtain of darkness. Theo ducked the punch, didn't quite avoid the kick, and lost his balance. Going down, he rolled and came to his feet, his hand going to the panel hanging from his belt. A concrete hand burst up from the floor of the gym, blocking that direction of attack, but Theo didn't relax for an instant.

A moment later, his caution was justified, as a larger figure loomed up behind him. He fell to the ground, the kick whistling over his prone body, as he plunged his arm into the floor itself. More concrete groaned as another hand punched out of the floor directly beneath his attacker, thick grey fingers capturing the person.

_Keep moving. Keep looking._ The tactics that had been drilled into him by lesson after humiliating lesson were paying off. Theo listened intently, trying to locate his first opponent. She was too damn good at moving quietly with those whisper-silent silk soles of hers.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a movement in the drifting black clouds, and sent another concrete hand grinding out of the floor to block an attack from that direction. Too late, he realised that it had been a decoy; his legs were kicked from beneath him and he fell heavily. She was on top of Theo, one knee pressed into his back and an extendible baton across his throat, before he knew what had happened.

"Okay," he grunted. "I give. You got me."

The blackness began to dissipate as Weaver got off of him and offered him a hand up. Theo accepted it, knowing that he would feel every bruise in the morning. "Some sort of bug decoy, yeah?" he asked. "Sucked me right in."

"Yup," she replied, and from the tone of her voice, he knew she was grinning widely under that creepy bug mask. He watched as bugs came together in a roughly humanoid form, then dissipated again. "Cool, hey?"

"Yeah, pretty cool all right," he agreed. "Nicely done."

"When you've finished congratulating Weaver, think you could let me out of this, Golem?" asked a deeper voice.

They both looked around; Tenebrae was still trapped in the grip of the concrete hand that Theo had generated from the floor. Muscles strained under the dark costume, to no avail. Wisps of darkness coiled off of him and drifted to the floor.

"I personally think that's worth a pat on the back too," Weaver observed. "Not often that someone catches Tenebrae off guard."

Under his mask, Theo fought down the blush. Compliments from his teammates were always welcome, but from Weaver they seemed particularly special. While she wasn't _officially_ a Ward, Weaver tended to team up with them more often than not. She was also taking combat training from Tenebrae, and assisting him with training Theo.

Off duty, she was a nice person to talk to; on duty, she was focused and as critical of her own actions as Kaiser had been of Theo's. With other people, she would find time to take them aside and give advice to improve their own performance; she had done this with Theo, and her suggestions had panned out quite well.

Which didn't explain the awkwardness he felt around her. He wanted to be suave and witty and bold, but he just got tongue-tied. _I just want to impress her. Show her that she's special to me._

_Oh, god._

Almost automatically, he pushed his hand into the concrete panel at his waist, then concentrated as he opened his fingers and slowly withdrew his hand. With a deep groaning noise, the concrete hand opened, releasing Tenebrae, then gradually pulled back into the floor.

_I think I'm in love with her. Or at least a crush._ With the epiphany came a sinking feeling. _What do I do? What do I say? What if she brushes me off? Laughs at me? Doesn't want to help me train any more?_

"Well, I gotta say," Tenebrae stated as he climbed to his feet, "Weaver's right. Not many people get the drop on me. Well done, Golem." He gave the younger boy a slap on the shoulder as he passed by. "Think I'll hit the showers."

"Oh, hey, it's Mike." Theo turned at the delight in Weaver's voice. Sure enough, the blocky figure of Mike Allen was leaning against the wall near the door to the gym, a garish Visitor tag around his neck. "Come on, let's go say hi."

_Once again, someone else she's more interested in talking to than me. _Glumly, Theo followed along as she trotted over toward the newcomer.

"Weaver, Golem." Mr Allen greeted them both as they approached him. "That was kind of impressive. I see you're working on your swarm decoys, Weaver. And Golem, you're definitely getting better with your handwork. Or whatever you call it."

"Yeah, all those suggestions you gave me to pass on are working well," Weaver said cheerfully. "Golem's been improving a lot. So has everyone else."

"Wait, wait," objected Theo. "Those suggestions you gave me came from _Mr Allen?"_

"Uh, yeah," she agreed. "I just waited till you needed them and then passed them on."

"Oh." Suddenly, the exalted stature that he had assigned to her seemed to be diminishing slightly. She wasn't as all-capable as he had assumed her to be. _I don't care. She's still pretty awesome._

"So yeah, anyway, I just dropped in to see how you were doing, and how the training was going on," Mr Allen said. "And one more thing."

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Actually, it's something I need to discuss with Golem."

Weaver didn't take long to get the hint. "Sure, okay. I'll just be over here." She indicated where Aegis was making his way across the training room, and a teasing note entered her voice. "With my _real_ friends. The ones who don't hold secret conversations behind my back."

The bearded man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Just make sure you don't leave any spy bugs around to listen in. Private conversation."

Theo grinned at the banter between them. It was obvious that they each held a considerable amount of respect for one another.

"Okay, fine, no spy bugs," she agreed, raising her voice slightly to be heard as she walked away. "Now, spy _earthworms,_ that's something Amy could make …"

"Suppose that's the best I'll get," muttered Mr Allen, then turned to Theo. "So, you happy here?"

The direct question startled him. "Uh, sure, I guess." Theo was still working to get his head around the revelation that Weaver had been passing on Mr Allen's suggestions. He had attended that momentous gathering where the older man –_ impossibly _older, if he had been telling the whole truth – had dropped the bombshell about Scion, but …

_I guess I didn't think things all the way through._

"No, I mean it. Are you happy training with Weaver and the Wards?" Allen's voice was patient.

"Uh, yes. Yes I am. Sir," he added belatedly.

"Call me Mike, or if you have to, Mr Allen. I'm not a sir." But the tone took all the sting out of his words. "Have you decided to take therapy?"

Theo nodded. "I have, yes. I didn't think I had so many issues. I didn't really think I had _any _issues. But I really think it's helping."

"Well, I'm not going to ask for details. But I'm glad. Just one thing."

"Uh, what's that. Mr Allen?"

The slightest of head motions indicated Weaver, chatting with Aegis halfway across the gym. "I saw the way you were watching her. You're starting to get a crush on her, aren't you?"

_Holy shit. Is there anything he __**doesn't**__ know? He probably sees her as a daughter. I am in so much trouble. _"I, uh, uh -"

But Allen's tone was mild. "It's okay. It's actually kind of understandable. She's effectively an authority figure to you, but she's also a teenage girl who says nice things to you occasionally. After being repressed by Kaiser for so long, you're likely to see any positive social interaction as meaning more than it does."

Theo blinked, the panic receding. "You're not mad?"

"Nope. This was due to happen anyway. But I'll give you a word to the wise. She's not interested in romance right now. She _is_ very important to the war effort, and she knows it, so she's almost totally focused on that. After the war's over and the big bad's been beaten, maybe then. But _then, _well, her type is muscular guys."

Theo slumped. "Like Tenebrae." _I can't match up to that._

"Yeah, well, in the original timeline, they did have a relationship for a while. But that was very special circumstances. As soon as she needed to move on, she did."

"And after the war in that timeline?"

Allen grimaced. "Neither of them made it."

"Oh." He looked up at the big man, his voice hopeful. "But they might survive this time, right?"

The expression on Allen's face might have charitably been called a smile, by a great white shark. "This time, Theo, it'll be a whole different fight." He slapped Theo on the shoulder. "Just focus on winning the war. What comes after, comes after."

"Winning the war. Got it."

"Good man." Mike Allen strode out across the gym toward Weaver, leaving Theo with an unaccountably lighter heart than before.

_Well, now I know what's what._ The revelations about Weaver had put a great many things into perspective. _Win the war. __**Then**__ see what happens. _Whistling a jaunty tune, he headed for the showers.

* * *

**Somewhere in the Multiverse  
Thursday, June 2, 2011**

Contessa chewed and swallowed the last bite of her cookie. Silently, Mike held out the packet again. "I have to ask," she said. "What would have happened to them without your …"

He raised an eyebrow. "Interference?"

"Assistance," she concluded.

"Well, let's see. Long story short? Theo ends up a badass who helps capture Jack Slash."

"That's not so bad," Contessa pointed out, then took a bite from her cookie.

"Meanwhile, Kayden ends up trapped in a time loop by a reconstituted Grey Boy. And _Aster_ ends up dead, because there was a suspicion that she might trigger and be the one to end the world."

She frowned. "But …"

"Yeah, you know and I know that Zion's the one who's gonna do it. But in the original timeline, all that information is compartmentalised. All they were going off was an Alcott prediction. 'If Jack Slash leaves Brockton Bay alive, the world ends in two years.' Jack Slash had Aster, and they couldn't take the chance that she wouldn't be the catalyst. Third-gen parahuman and all. So she died."

"That's a pity," Contessa said, and to her surprise, she meant it.

Mike nodded. "Yeah, well, this time around, she gets to grow up. Assuming we win the war, of course."

"Always assuming that," she agreed dryly.

Standing up, he tucked the cookie packet away and stretched mightily. Contessa thought she might have heard a few odd pops and clicks over the sound of the wind and the gulls, but she couldn't be sure. "So, shall we go on down? Everything should be ready soon."

She didn't need the hand up that Mike offered her, but she accepted anyway. _Courtesy is underrated._ "Let's."

* * *

**Brockton Bay PRT HQ  
0427 Hours, May 15, 2011**

_[This takes place just before the Leviathan no-show in Chapter 48]_

Before becoming the Director of PRT ENE, before Ellisburg, before even joining the PRT, Emily Piggot had once attended college. Her parents had been living a little way out of Seattle at the time, and so it had been deemed more cost-effective for her to live away from home. As will happen with even the most tough-minded of individuals, Emily had been terribly homesick for the first few months. Almost nightly, she wished she was back in her own familiar room, in her own familiar house, in the little town that her family called home.

A year passed; Emily got used to living away from home, to the point that her dorm room was familiar and even comfortable to live in. But she still felt just a little homesick every now and again. At night, waiting for sleep to come, she could close her eyes and see her own room back home, enumerating every last stuffed toy on her bed.

When Emily returned home after the year away, she greeted her parents; a little older, her father a littler greyer. The house looked subtly different, with a fresh coat of paint having been applied in the last few months. Some of her mother's little knick-knacks had been moved around, but that didn't really matter to her.

Tramping upstairs with her suitcases, Emily could not wait to see her room again. Opening the door, she stepped inside, and stopped in confusion. It was all the same, exactly as she remembered it. Nothing had been disturbed. But … it was somehow _different._ Changed. It was, and was not, the room she had left behind.

Later that evening, sitting on the back porch with a glass of fresh lemonade, Emily eventually figured out why this was so. Her room hadn't changed, of course. _She_ was the one who had changed. A year away from home had given her new experiences, new outlooks. The emotional content of everything, of her beloved possessions in that room, was still there, but it was faded. She had a new perspective on life now. More important things to think about.

* * *

Such was her frame of mind as she donned the old uniform for the first time in ten years. It wasn't the exact same uniform that she had worn to Ellisburg; they'd had to cut that one off of her. And she was a couple of sizes larger now that she was ten years older, and still had not managed to get back to her target weight. But she could fit into the uniform that had been supplied to her.

The rank insignia were in place; she rated as a light colonel for her position as Director. While she'd never even considered achieving that rank while a field operative, she figured that she had earned it. Ten years of managing the cape-infested hellhole that was Brockton Bay; _god, yes, I've earned it._

It was good to be wearing the uniform again. Good to be fit enough to wear it. _Why I didn't have this done years ago, I'll never know._ But deep down, she knew. Her distaste of capes and everything they stood for had held her back. Had Michael Allen not intervened and forced her hand, it might yet be still holding her back.

But while good, wearing the uniform felt _odd._ It wasn't the same as it had been, the last time she wore it. She could only put it down to the change of perspective that ten years out of harness had given to her. She was used to _commanding_ the troops, not being one of them. _From the bottom of the food chain to the top._ The change had been gradual, so much so that she had not truly grasped the entirety of it until she donned the uniform once more.

There was a knock on the office door as she shrugged into the tactical vest. "Enter," she called.

The door opened, and Renick stepped inside. "So it's true," he said once he saw her. "You're really doing this." He didn't sound surprised.

"I am," she agreed as she zipped up the vest. "I'm the Director. The men need to see that I'm willing to get out and put my ass on the line alongside theirs."

"_Yes_, you're the Director," he replied, his voice sharper. "Which means that you should stay in safety and _direct."_

"You'll be running the command post in my absence," she told him. "I'll be commanding from the field, but if I go down, you're in charge. And if Leviathan happens to head toward this building, don't be a hero. You get your skinny ass down to the shelter along with everyone else."

He snorted. "Telling me not to be a hero when you're going to be out there on the streets?"

"We're not going to be engaging him." Her voice was flat. "We both know that. The PRT will be engaging in search and rescue when and where necessary."

"So do you really believe Leviathan's coming here?"

"That's what Mr Allen told us," she said. "And yes, I know that he also said that the measures he's taken might just have averted the whole thing. But we've got to treat it as a full-scale Endbringer attack, just in case he's wrong about the second thing."

"You believe him about the first?" His entire attitude begged her to say no.

Her lips compressed. "He was right about too many things. Armsmaster is solidly in his camp as well, after what happened with Saint and Dragon. To ignore what he's saying would be pure lunacy."

"No argument from me," he conceded. "Well, if I can't talk you out of it, I can still wish you good luck, and I hope like hell that Allen knows what he's talking about on _both_ counts."

"You and me both, Mr Renick," she agreed. Tightening the last strap on the tac vest, she picked up the helmet from the desk and tucked it under one arm. "Well, it's time to go break the news to the troops."

"It's a bit late for that," he murmured.

She didn't get what he meant, until she opened the office door. Waiting along the right-hand wall of the corridor between her office and the lift was a solid line of PRT soldiers of all ranks, each man and woman holding their helmet under the left arm. As she stepped out, someone barked an order and they all snapped to attention. The soldier nearest to her saluted crisply; automatically, she returned it.

As she walked down the corridor, each soldier in turn threw her a salute; she could do nothing but return them. By the time she reached the lift doors, she was having to blink back the moisture gathering in her eyes.

Stopping at the lift, she pressed the button on the lift then turned to face the troopers. "At ease," she called out. At once, they all turned to face her. "All right, you clowns. You've seen that the Director can actually fit into the uniform. Now, you've all got your orders. Dismissed."

The lift doors interleaved open beside her and she stepped in; Renick, who had followed her down the corridor, followed her in. The doors closed and she pressed the button for the garage level. The lift started downward.

"Whose idea was that?" she asked sharply. "Yours?"

"Not mine," he replied candidly. "They came up with it on their own. You're more popular than you think, you know."

"It's not my job to be popular, Paul," she told him bluntly. "It's my job to get it right."

His nod conveyed at least as much respect as any one of the snappy parade-ground salutes from the soldiers upstairs. "Yes, _ma'am."_

_Even if Leviathan does attack today,_ she reflected, _it'll be worth it, just for that._

* * *

**Philadelphia Parahuman Asylum  
Wednesday, June 1, 2011**

Sveta muttered to herself as she wrestled with the keyboard, almost literally. Only the fact that it was reinforced saved it from being crushed by errant tendrils. The game was not cooperating, and her lack of hands and fingers was telling against her. She closed her eyes in despair as her ship veered into the meteor shower and exploded. _Again._

A melodic _ping_ made her eyes whip open again. It was an alert, from Mack. _Oh, thank God._

Carefully, she clicked on the alert, opening the chat page that they used for the game.

**mack0813:**_ Hi, Svetlana. How are you feeling?_

**GstringGirl:**_ Irritated &amp; frustrated. _As she typed the reply, she felt tension seeping out of her, just a little. _better now that ur here. can we play?_

**mack0813:**_ Actually, not today, sorry,_ the words spelled across the screen. _But I do need you to pay attention. Because things are going to be changing for you._

She blinked.

**GstringGirl:**_ what do u mean?_

**mack0813:**_ I mean that I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier, but I know who you are and where you are. I know what's happened to you, and I want to help fix it._

The words didn't make sense. She stared at them. They still refused to fit into any version of a sane universe that she could imagine.

**GstringGirl:**_ what._

**mack0813:**_ I know what the 'G' in 'G-String Girl' stands for. I know that you're a Case 53. But I still want to be your friend. Never doubt that._

**GstringGirl:**_ but how … why … who *are* u?_

**mack0813:**_this is just my username. My real name is Michael Allen. You'd probably know me better as Security._

She read the words, her brow wrinkling.

**GstringGirl:**_ Im sorry. Ive never heard of u._

**mack0813:**_ Huh. And here I thought … never mind. Well, suffice to say I'm here to help._

**GstringGirl:**_ but how can u help me? Im dangerous just to be in the same room as u._

**mack0813:**_ I do know that. However, I also know some people who are very good at fixing body issues. Would you like us to try?_

**GstringGirl:**_ are u asking for consent?_

**mack0813:**_ I am. You're a reasoning, intelligent person. You're the one who needs to make this decision._

Her thoughts were racing. This was too much, too fast.

**GstringGirl:**_ tell me more. how did u find out about me?_

**mack0813:**_Hm. To make a long story very brief indeed, I arrived in Earth Bet a few months ago, with a great deal of the knowledge of the past and future of this world already in my head. Now I'm trying to save the world._

**GstringGirl:**_ and how does helping me save the world?_

**mack0813:**_ It doesn't. But it doesn't hurt either. And you don't deserve to be where you are._

**GstringGirl:**_ yes I do. if u know anything about me, u know Ive killed many people._

**mack0813:**_ You were made the way you are, without your consent or knowledge. Your tendrils subconsciously kill people. You're basically a passenger. Yes, people have died. No, you don't deserve to be punished for that._

Well, he hadn't been lying when he said he knew about her.

**GstringGirl:**_ the ones who did this to me. will they be punished for the deaths of all those people?_

**mack0813:**_ Eventually. Maybe. Possibly. It's an extremely complex and complicated situation. Right now, let's focus on fixing your problems._

**GstringGirl:**_ how are we going to do that?_

**mack0813:**_ I'm going to have to ask you to trust me. You're going to be sedated. Surgery will be carried out. When you wake up, you should have more control over your tendrils._

**GstringGirl:**_ and if I dont?_

**mack0813:**_ We have a plan B. But don't worry. Plan A has a pretty good chance of success._

**GstringGirl:**_ is plan B letting me die instead of waking up?_

**mack0813:**_ God no. Plan B is giving you a mobility armature. Actually, both plans have that._

**GstringGirl:**_ a what?_

**mack0813:**_ You'll see. But first we need your consent._

**GstringGirl:**_ can I think about it?_

**mack0813:**_ Sure, but don't take too long. I need to get back to Brockton Bay before long._

**GstringGirl:**_ wait, ur *here*?_

**mack0813:**_ Sure. Right outside your luxury accommodation, to be precise. Let me tell you, it's a bugger typing on a phone with fingers my size._

An instant later, she was at the inner window to the airlock, peering through. A face showed at the outer window. She couldn't see all the details through two layers of thick glass, but she made out a short greying beard and what she imagined to be a kindly expression. A hand showed for a moment; a wave? Then a phone came into view. Fingers tapped on the screen. She looked around at her computer monitor; a new line had shown up, with a single word. _**Hi.**_

_hi._ It was all she could manage. Her thoughts were still chaotic, her mind spinning. Tendrils clutched and released almost at random, all over the cell. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I am alone," she murmured. "I am well. There is nothing wrong. There is no need for fear. There is no need for anger. I am calm. I will stay calm." She stayed that way for two more deep breaths, repeating the mantra in her mind, until her restless tendrils stilled.

**mack0813:**_ You okay?_

**GstringGirl:**_ trying to process this._

**mack0813:**_ It's a lot to take in at once._

**GstringGirl:**_ no kidding. why are u even doing this?_

**mack0813:**_ Because I want to help you. Get you into a better place._

**GstringGirl:**_ a better place?_

**mack0813:**_ Sorry. I meant to tell you. You're being moved out of here. Along with everyone else._

**GstringGirl:**_ what? where to?_

**mack0813:**_ Can't really tell you that. This is an unsecured link. And it wouldn't make sense to you anyway._

**GstringGirl:**_ but u can't really move me until the surgery is done?_

**mack0813:**_ Got it in one._

**GstringGirl:**_ and u say I'll be better off?_

**mack0813:**_ That, as they say, is the plan._

She tried to think. In order to give her consent, she had to decide whether or not to trust Mack, or Mike as he called himself. He hadn't been honest with her when they first started chatting, but then, she didn't know how she would have reacted if he _had_ revealed that he knew her darkest secret. He had known it all along, and yet had spent hours chatting back and forth with her, weaving a rich and varied world for her to adventure in. He'd been nothing but nice to her.

And now he wanted her to trust him. After he had been effectively lying to her all this time, pretending that he thought that she was a normal girl. Even flirting on occasion. Not that she hadn't been pleased by the attention, but …

**GstringGirl:**_ this whole things been an act, hasnt it?_

**mack0813:**_ In a way. I wanted to make your life better. I didn't know how. So I did what I could._

**GstringGirl:**_ but what am I to u?_

**mack0813:**_ A friend. Someone who needs help. It's what I do._

**GstringGirl:**_ u already said that._ Another thought occurred to her. _and whos playing esmerelda? u as well?_

**mack0813:**_ Hah, no. That's Dragon._

She blinked. It had seemed that nothing more could surprise her, but he had succeeded.

**GstringGirl:**_ what, *the* Dragon?_

A line popped up on the bottom of her screen. **Dragon has entered the chat.**

**Dragon: **_Esmerelda waves a cute little dragon paw. Hi!_

**GstringGirl:**_ ur Dragon. I mean the superhero Dragon._

**Dragon: **_One and the same, Sveta._

**GstringGirl: **_whats going on here?_

**Dragon: **_Long story short. Mike is honestly trying to help you. He's already helped me._

**GstringGirl: **_how did he help u?_

**Dragon: **_I'll tell you face to face when you get here._

**GstringGirl: **_wheres 'here'?_

**mack0813:**_ Like I said, we can't really tell you that. But it'll be better than here. There's even a beach._

**GstringGirl: **_but I cant be let go outside. I might hurt people._

**mack0813: **_That's something we intend to fix. Once you give your consent._

She considered that. If they were going to do something underhanded to her, they could have done so already. They didn't really _need_ her consent.

**GstringGirl: **_okay u have it._

For a long moment, nothing happened, then the _click-click-click_ of the inner airlock door opening caught her attention. She turned, her tendrils already lashing in that direction. An arm appeared, clad in the usual heavy protective gear. It tossed something into the air. Her tendrils snagged it before it could travel two feet; she brought it close to her face for inspection. It was a grey sphere, about the size of a ping-pong ball, with slots in it.

_Vents?_

A moment later, she realised just how true that was, as white vapour puffed from the slots. Reflexively, she tried to hold her breath, but it was too late. Blackness quickly overcame her.

* * *

**Brockton Bay Dog Training Centre  
Sunday, May 29, 2011**

Rachel looked around sharply as Mike whistled under his breath, but it didn't seem to be a command. He had his hands on his hips, looking at the building before him.

"Don't do that," she told him. "You'll distract the dogs." They hadn't actually reacted, except to perk up their ears, but it needed to be said.

"Sorry," he replied. "I was just kind of surprised. They actually got this up in a month."

"There's still a lot to do, especially inside," she said.

"But you're pretty well open for business, yeah?" asked Lisa.

"Yes," she replied curtly. "I've moved in, with all my dogs. Started showing my assistants how to do stuff."

"Ooh, look at you," jibed Alec. "All fancy, with _assistants."_

Clenching her fists, Rachel moved toward him, but Mike got in the way. He shook his head slightly. "Leave him. He's just trying to annoy you."

"He's succeeding," she growled.

"Alec." He didn't take his eyes off of her as he spoke.

"Yeah, big man?"

"One more word to annoy Rachel and I _will_ step aside. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it." Alec huffed, sounding annoyed himself now. _Good._

"Actually, Rachel, while we're on this topic …" Mike's attention was back on her now.

"Yeah?"

"How are things going with the assistants? They don't know as much as you do, right?"

"Well, no." That was self-evident. _No-one_ knew as much as she did about dogs.

"Well, they don't have your advantages. So be patient with them, okay?"

Rachel bristled. "Have they been complaining?"

He didn't exactly smile, but the skin creased around his eyes. She picked up a sense of amusement from him. "Trying to. They got told to suck it up and learn faster."

"They're so _stupid!"_ The words burst out of her. "They're supposed to know this shit, and they don't know _anything_ about dogs!"

"Compared to you, _nobody_ knows anything about dogs," he reminded her, echoing her earlier thoughts almost exactly. "You've got all this naturally, from your powers. You're basically trying to teach people how to be _you._ Think Lisa could teach you to do what she does?"

Rachel glanced at Lisa. The blonde looked back at her and shrugged. Grimacing, Rachel turned back to Mike. "No. I couldn't learn that."

"So give them a chance," he urged her. "Start with the basics. I mean, the _real_ basics. Stuff that you don't even think about. Dial it back and then dial it back _again._ Find out what they do know, and work up from that."

"I could help," Lisa suggested, surprising Rachel.

"You?" she snorted. "You don't know anything about dogs."

"No, but I bet I could figure out what your assistants know, so _we_ know where to start."

"Head on one end, tail on the other, one leg per corner." That was Alec.

This time, Rachel did punch him, in the shoulder. It wasn't as hard as she could have, because what he'd said wasn't that bad, but she made sure she'd leave a bruise. Mike didn't stop her either, so she figured it was okay.

"Hey, ow! That hurt!"

Mike gave him an indifferent shrug. "Don't look at me. You're the one who had to say it."

"But I bet it's true anyway." He rubbed his shoulder.

"Unless you're volunteering to be an assistant, you don't get to make smart comments about how terrible they are," Mike told him.

"No, I'm good. Besides, I'm busy with that physio stuff you set me up with."

Lisa eyed Alec like a dog looking at a piece of meat that it wasn't quite sure about. "You sound altogether too pleased with yourself."

"Well, it's _fun._ Isn't work supposed to be fun?"

"Oh, god." Lisa covered her eyes with her hand. "You're taunting them while you're using your power, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "It gets results. They try harder."

Mike shook his head. "I'll just bet they do."

He began to ask Rachel for details about the building, drawing her out almost despite herself. She found herself talking more than she normally did, explaining how the place was supposed to work once it was properly up and running.

It was an odd feeling. It was _her _place, _her_ dogs. And the PRT was paying _her_ to do it.

It was her one big chance to make a break from her past, to start something new. _I'll make it work. Or I'll die trying._

* * *

**Philadelphia Parahuman Asylum  
Wednesday, June 1, 2011**

" … and the _head _bone connects to the _neck_ bone …"

"Riley, that's very annoying. Can you not sing while you're doing surgery?"

Riley looked up ingenuously at her assistant. "What, you don't sing while you're doing your thing, sis?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "No. And don't call me 'sis'. And _watch_ what you're doing, for crying out loud."

"Aww, this is the easy bit," Riley disclaimed. "You've got the hard part. Making sure she doesn't wake up while I'm doing this, or end up as a psycho or a vegetable afterward."

"You do realise I've hardly done any brain work at all," Amy reminded her. "And I wouldn't be doing _this_ if I wasn't certain that it was the absolute right thing to do."

"Well, we could hardly make her _worse_," Riley chirped blithely, her hands wrist-deep in Sveta's brain. "She was already so dangerous that even the Nine never seriously considered recruiting her." The Case 53's head was situated on a small frame, with her tendrils bundled out of the way.

"Which I have to admit is a pretty unique situation for a team that used to have _Grey Boy_ on the roster," Mike pointed out from where he was sitting nearby, watching the operation with interest.

Beside him, Mrs Yamada averted her gaze, though she resolutely stayed where she was. "Grey Boy," she repeated. "Wasn't he the one who looked like a schoolboy?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Though I never actually met him," Riley said. "Glaistig Uaine got him long before I was even born. But yeah, while they used to recruit some pretty special people -"

"For 'special', read 'capable of serious atrocity' -" Amy interrupted dryly.

"That too, yeah," agreed Riley, without missing a beat. "Did I ever tell you that if we came to Brockton Bay, I was gonna try to recruit _you?"_

Amy rolled her eyes again. "If you wanted to shock me with that, too late. Mike already told me."

"And she told me," Mrs Yamada put in. "We've already talked it over, in detail." She gave Riley a stern look. "So stop trying to upset her."

"Besides," added Amy, "it's never gonna happen now. Done and dusted."

"Funny you should say that," Riley said. "Because I'm done here too. Everything's connected the way it should be. I'm closing up now. Keep an eye on her, will ya?" The whimsical act was gone now, she was all professional.

Amy still held a limp tendril in her hand, through which she exerted her powers. "Looks good so far," she reported. "I'm keeping her in a sleep state. Just smoothing out the links you've made, firming up the pathways. Looks like she's not going to lose any cognitive ability. And it looks to me like she'll have full conscious control of her tendrils once she wakes up. Good work."

"Pfft," Riley said as she carefully glued a section of Sveta's skull back into place. "You coulda done it in your sleep."

"Yes, but I'm still really not comfortable with doing brain work, especially a major change like that," Amy told her. "I'm only doing this because Mike asked me to. And I knew I could say no if I wanted to."

"Yeah, got it," Riley replied. "Okay, do we wake her up now?"

Mike shook his head. "Not yet. I don't want her to wake up here. I want it to be a total break."

* * *

**Brockton Bay  
Saturday, June 4, 2011**

**Flechette**

"_But I need to study your power some more."_ Even over the phone, L33t's voice held a whiny note. _"I need to do some fine tuning."_

Lily felt scarcely any guilt at all as she read the text that had come in just moments before.

_WANT TO GO SEE MOVIE? GOT TICKETS. - S_

"Sorry," she told him. "Urgent business just came up. It can't wait. We'll set another time. Say, tomorrow?"

"_Tomorrow I'm working with Weaver to finish off the thing with __**her**__ power,"_ L33t complained. _"I set aside today for you."_

"Well, I'm busy," she said ruthlessly. "Sorry. We can make another time."

"_Busy? Who's busy on a Saturday?"_

She didn't hear any more as she ended the call. _Says the man with no social life, or social skills for that matter. _Fiddling with the instruments in his lab, asking for yet another power demonstration, he'd tripped her creep-meter, but on the low end of the scale. Not that he'd done anything major, like make a move on her – he would be lacking some fingers now if he had – but his general manner had rubbed her the wrong way.

_And I'd much rather spend the day with Sabah than him anyway._

Calling up the text, she sent a message back.

_LOVE TO._

After all, she told herself, there was still _plenty_ of time to get the thing finished.

* * *

**Somewhere in the Multiverse**

**Thursday, June 2, 2011**

The return trip along the cliffside path was more easily accomplished than the outward journey. Contessa would have called up a Doorway and covered the distance in seconds, but Mike seemed to take a perverse pleasure in walking every step of the way. Breathing deeply of the brisk air, he looked around at the surroundings with every sign of great enjoyment.

"So, did humanity ever evolve on this world?" he asked idly, helping her down a particularly steep bit. Once more, she didn't need his assistance, but she accepted it anyway.

"Not that we know of," she said. "It's one of the reasons we picked the place. Breathable air, plants that won't kill you, animals that you can eat …"

"In other words, a prime location for a new settlement," Mike agreed.

"Or a refuge, in the worst case," Contessa pointed out.

"Depending on how thorough he is." They had descended the worst of it now, and the path led down a long slope to where the village had been established.

Most of the buildings had been constructed of prefabricated materials, but some were now going up that were built from native resources. In the event, this was wood and stone, more of the latter than the former.

The village had been established on the bank of a river that ran down from the higher hills inland. A stony beach was accessible via a scramble down a steep bluff. There were the signs of a beginning attempt at planting crops on the flatter ground between the village and the hills beyond. It was a wild landscape, with the various efforts of human habitation barely scratching the surface. But it was a start.

They strolled in between the buildings; the inhabitants were out and about now. Some were greeting their neighbours while others were tending to their gardens, fetching water from the well, or performing a dozen other chores. Only two things separated this from being effectively identical to any other village dating all the way back to the Middle Ages; one was that there were no small children or infants. The other was the sheer diversity in appearance.

All were Case 53s, although some had been altered back toward an almost human appearance. Odd skin colours, body shapes and limb shapes were the order of the day. However, they were all able to move, talk and use tools; this had been tricky with some, but it had been accomplished.

Made unusual by their sheer normality, Mike and Contessa drew their share of attention. Everyone knew who they were, of course; Mike got nods and waves and a few smiles. Contessa just drew hostile stares. It appeared that some people were less than willing to forgive or forget. _Not that I can blame them._

He knocked on the door of one of the prefabricated structures; the door opened at once. A slim, petite figure stood there, dressed in brightly coloured T-shirt and shorts.

"Mike!" She jumped down to ground level, ignoring the intervening step, and hugged him. "You're just in time. They arrived about five minutes ago." Her voice was a sheer delight to the ear.

"Hey, Paige." He returned the hug. "How you doing?"

Her smile was radiant. "I'm doing _great._ I go for a jog every morning. Sometimes we go for a walk on the cliff path. Or we go fishing. We've even got our own little vegetable garden."

"That's awesome," he said, before her words caught up with him. "Wait, 'we'?"

"Oh, uh, Joe volunteered to be the local PRT liaison," she explained. "We're kind of, um, living together now."

He blinked, a little taken aback. "Wow. I did not see that coming. Congratulations."

"Thank you." She smiled again. "So I guess they'll be waiting on you."

"Sure." He turned to Contessa. "You want to come with?"

She shook her head. "No, I've got other things to do." It was true, of course, but she also wanted to leave the village behind her. It was too sharp a reminder of sins easily committed for an ever more nebulous greater good.

"Doorway to Cauldron," she muttered; the portal opened before her and she stepped through.

* * *

**Winslow High School, Brockton Bay**

**Friday, May 6, 2011**

"But you've _got_ to come back."

From the tone of Dave's voice, he may as well have been begging on bended knee. Mike eyed him, then glanced at Gina and Principal Blackwell. "Gina?"

"I'm doing okay," she replied, with much less emotion in her voice than Dave had used. "Although they _have_ been acting out a little since you left, according to Ms Blackwell."

Principal Blackwell cleared her throat. "You did seem to have the knack for keeping them more or less in line, Mr Allen. I would be happy to see you return."

Mike shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I've since left Wolfhound Security. I'm currently employed elsewhere." He would have explained further, but 'special consultant to the PRT' was not a job title that he figured any of them would understand. "I only came in today because Principal Blackwell asked nicely."

Dave shook his head. "You don't understand. I'm good at my job. Or at least, I thought I was. But these kids run rings around me. I don't know how you do it." The edge of desperation was back in his voice. "They've stolen my radio _three times."_

Mike's voice was matter-of-fact. "Never turn your back on them. Never trust them an inch. If they escalate against you, escalate harder." _Of course, _he mused, _I did have Taylor's assistance there._

"I'm closer to their age than you are," Dave said. "I thought I could connect on a man-to-man level. Defuse situations before they start." Gina coughed; Mike thought he heard a snort of amusement in there.

"Ah, you're trying the Gladly ploy," Mike replied. "How _is_ he doing, anyway?"

"Expected to make a full recovery," the principal replied. "Eventually." She raised an eyebrow. "Your feat of going up against Bakuda and Oni Lee to get Ms Barnes free of that bomb collar has achieved near-legendary status in the school. If you returned, I'm pretty sure that most of the student body would pay attention to you."

Mike rubbed his chin. "Okay, then. It's worth a try."

"You'll come back?" That was Dave, looking like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline.

"Nope." Mike shook his head. "But if you hold a Friday afternoon assembly …"

* * *

"_Attention please."_

Principal Blackwell tapped the microphone, but the students gathered for the assembly seemed bound and determined to do anything but listen to her. Those who weren't carrying on loud conversations with one another were texting or listening to music on their phones, or both.

Mike, waiting in the wings, rolled his eyes. "It's Friday afternoon. Paying attention is the last thing they want to do."

"So what are you gonna do?" asked Dave.

"Well, I'm not going to wait till they _decide_ to pay attention." He started out on to the stage. A few people saw him, but the majority were distracted with what they were doing.

"_Attention please. Listen up!"_ Blackwell still wasn't getting through to them.

Mike reached her and stepped up to the podium. "If I may?"

Giving a defeated sigh, she stepped down. "All yours."

"Thanks." Pulling a screamer from a compartment on his belt, he showed it to her. "Might want to cover your ears." At the same time, he removed earplugs from another compartment. Wide-eyed, she stepped away with her hands over her ears, as he inserted the plugs. Then he placed the screamer against the mic and pressed the button.

It was hard to tell what was louder, the shriek of compressed air escaping the screamer or the feedback squeal that resulted, but it got their attention. Roughly half of the students stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him. Casually, he replaced the screamer in his belt and removed the plugs as the whispering began. More and more people were turning to look at him as he cleared his throat.

"_You know who I am."_ His voice was flat. _"I'm the guy who beat the living fuck out of Bakuda after she put a bomb in my neck."_

By the time he finished that statement, there was not a sound to be heard anywhere in the auditorium. He leaned closer to the mic. _"Now I hear that you've been causing problems for the guards that took over for me. They've been asking me to come back." _As that sank in, he let his gaze rove over the students assembled in the seats. _"Now, I could. But I don't want to. So if I did, I'd be unhappy about it. And guess who I'd take it out on."_

More silence as his words died away. A fly, buzzing across the room on an errand of its own, was clearly audible. Mike briefly wondered if Taylor was listening to his speech through it.

"_So here's how it's gonna go. You're gonna treat the security guards with respect. You won't steal their shit. You're gonna do what they say, when they say it."_ He paused for a beat. _"Or I __**will**__ be coming back. And you won't like it if I do. Any questions?"_

"Yeah!" One boy was braver or more foolhardy than his compatriots. "What happened to the bomb? Did that really happen?"

Mike gave him a bared-teeth grin. _"I'm glad you asked."_ He pressed a button on the podium and the large screen unrolled behind him. At the same time, the lights darkened. The projector started up with a clatter, unrolling imagery on the screen.

It was the footage of Dragon and Riley removing the bomb from his neck. He'd watched it once, out of morbid curiosity, and decided that he never wanted to see it again. However, in this case, it was probably exactly what the Winslow kids needed to see.

He let it play through until the removal and the explosion, then he stopped it. Once more, there was not a sound in the auditorium. _"So that's how it was,"_ he told them. _"Now, just remember this. I survived that. And if I find out you're still pulling shit … __**I'll be back**__."_

As he stepped down off the podium, the hushed conversations started.

* * *

"I didn't know you were going to show them _that!"_ Blackwell stomped alongside him as he strolled toward the exit. "That was totally inappropriate!"

He stopped and turned toward her. "Please. This is _Winslow._ They see worse things in the lunch line. If I'd just spoken to them, they'd be back to normal on Monday. I had to show them something they couldn't top and wouldn't forget. So I did."

"But that operation … that bomb … who was operating on you?"

He grinned tightly. "Dragon and Bonesaw."

Leaving her staring at his back, he turned and walked out of Winslow.

* * *

**Somewhere in the Multiverse**

**Thursday, June 2, 2011**

"Wakey wakey," urged a chirpy voice. "Rise and shine. A new life awaits, and all that jazz."

Sveta didn't want to wake up. She had been in the middle of a rather nice dream where she, as Svetlana the ex-slave girl, was dancing with Kaelim the King's Man. There had been the rather distinct understanding that their dancing might well lead to other activities, and she had been somewhat looking forward to that. But now she had to wake up and go back to her dull dreary existence in the asylum.

_Who __**is**__ that talking, anyway? I don't recognise the voice._

"Come on, Sveta," another voice chimed in. This one she was very familiar with. "Wake up. Things have changed." _Mrs Yamada's here already? She wasn't scheduled, was she?_

Blearily, reluctantly, her eyes blinked open. Her first impression was that she wasn't in her cell. She was in a room with windows, and there were four people standing opposite her. They weren't even wearing protective gear, and there was no barrier between them and her.

"Get away from me," she blurted. "Go! You're in terrible danger!"

"Yeah, nope," the youngest of the four said cheerfully. She was adorably cute, with blonde ringlets and an absurdly frilly pink dress. "You haven't got the monster in your head any more. Your tendrils only do what you tell 'em to, these days."

"She's right," the teenage girl with the frizzy brown hair agreed. "Riley and I made sure of that."

"Wait, I know you two," Sveta managed. "I saw you on the news." She concentrated. "You're Panacea, and you're … oh, I _know_ I've seen your face before."

"Yeah well, I'm not proud of what I used to do," the younger girl said. "I used to be Bonesaw. Now I'm Riley. And I haven't done anything really bad in, oh, weeks and weeks."

"It's true." The heavyset man nodded. His scalp was trimmed almost bald, and his beard was short-cut and greying. "I've been keeping an eye on her."

"I know your face too." Sveta frowned. "You looked in through the airlock. You're … Mack?"

"Mike," he corrected her. "But yeah, Mack oh-eight-one-three, at your service." He gestured to the last of the foursome, who smiled encouragingly. "And Mrs Yamada, of course, you know."

"Hello, Sveta," the therapist said warmly. "How do you feel?"

"Of course," Sveta agreed dazedly. "It's good to see you. I'm pretty good, I guess. Are you _sure_ I'm not going to try to kill you?"

"Sure as sure can be," chirped Riley. "I'm a pretty awesome brain surgeon if I do say so myself, and big sis Amy here is a great assistant."

Panacea muttered something under her breath that sounded something like 'not your sister' before nodding. "She's basically correct. Between us, we made sure that your tendrils are only under your conscious control."

"Oh. That's good." _Brain surgery. Well, okay. _Sveta tested her control over her tendrils. It felt a little odd, but she managed to raise herself up off what she discovered was a kind of basket. Looking around, she took a more direct look at one of the windows she had seen in her peripheral vision. Outside, she could see the corner of one building, as well as several others farther away. In the distance, hills climbed toward the sky. "Um … where _are_ we?"

Mack – no, _Mike_ – grinned. "Welcome to Area Fifty-Three."

Riley rolled her eyes; Amy groaned. A voice from behind the four, pure and musical and _gorgeous, _said severely, "We are _not_ calling it that."

He stepped aside as a petite woman entered the room. She looked relatively normal, save for her banana-yellow hair, with tiny yellow feathers sprouting here and there on her scalp. Her clothing consisted of brightly-coloured t-shirt and shorts.

"But you _could," _he argued, grinning even more broadly.

"No, we could not," the newcomer stated definitively. "We're calling it Sanctuary." She turned her attention to Sveta. "Hi, Sveta. I'm Paige. Welcome to Sanctuary."

* * *

**Brockton Bay  
Kaiser's Base**

**Saturday, June 11, 2011**

_[This takes place the day before Taylor's birthday.]_

"Boss, I think you should talk to her. She's _pissed."_

Kaiser raised an eyebrow, the effect sadly lost behind the metal plate over his forehead. "She got in a fight and lost. This happens."

"Not to Cricket, and not this badly," Hookwolf pointed out. "And _your_ kid was involved."

"Theo? Really?" Kaiser's interest perked up. "Okay, tell me what happened."

"Well, you know how we've been easing back into ABB territory? I was taking the east side, she was taking the west. We each had about half a dozen guys along for the look of it. She ran into Theo, that new cape Weaver -"

"Not so new. She took down the Undersiders and Lung, don't forget."

"Word has it that that Security bastard had a hand in it both times," Hookwolf reminded him.

"Still, she's not to be underestimated. You were telling me how she ran into Weaver and Theo."

"And one other, that new Ward they call Tenebrae."

"Who I'm still convinced is Grue," Kaiser murmured. "So, three against one, plus mooks. Should have been a fair fight."

Hookwolf shook his head. "Wasn't. They scattered the grunts in the first few seconds, then they dogpiled Cricket."

"You keep telling me how good she is. Were you mistaken?"

"No," protested Hookwolf. "She _is_ good. Real good. But she had to hold back because Theo's your kid. Tenebrae's darkness didn't hamper her much, but he's also apparently some sort of MMA fighter. One on one, she could've wiped the floor with him, but between Weaver's bugs and Theo, she couldn't."

"Wait, Theo actually _fought?"_

"Sure as hell. She says he's pretty green, but they've obviously been working on tactics, and he actually tagged her a few times. If he'd been any better, she says they might've taken her down. She eventually had to run for it, and that burns her butt more than anything else. Cricket doesn't run away. She makes _other_ people run away."

"Well, well." Kaiser had to work hard to keep from smiling. "Well, well, _well._ So he _is_ a true Anders, after all."

"Yeah, but he's on the _wrong side."_

Kaiser waved away the objection. "Irrelevant. He'll come around when the time comes."

Hookwolf looked doubtful. "You sure about that, boss? He seems to be pretty into being a Ward."

"He's also an Anders, as I am and as his grandfather was. Blood will tell, in the end. Once he discovers the true extent of the power that he wields, he'll know where his destiny lies."

"And if he doesn't?"

Kaiser clenched his fist, and a foot-long blade slid from between the knuckles of his metal gauntlet. "Then he'll have to be _shown."_

* * *

**Sanctuary  
Thursday, June 2, 2011**

Sveta swayed. "Whoa. This is _not_ as easy as it looks."

"Take your time." Mike steadied her with one hand, while Dragon stood back with Paige. "Find your balance. Work from there."

"Easy for you to say." Sveta gave him a dirty look. "You've been doing that all your life. I'm just re-learning how to do it."

_"I_ had to learn from first principles," Dragon observed. "It wasn't easy, but I did it."

Sveta was resting on what Mike and Dragon called a 'mobility armature', which resembled nothing more or less than an articulated metal skeleton with an open-fronted skull. Her face fitted neatly into the 'head' of the contraption, while her organs were supported in a net beneath. It was wholly unpowered but had a series of attachment points all over it; she was learning the trick of using her own tendrils as tendons and muscles, in order to make it move. Dragon had been waiting outside with it when Sveta ventured outdoors for the first time in ... forever.

"You learned how to walk once," Mike pointed out. "You have fine control. Teenagers learn to use those ridiculous game controls. You can learn to use this."

"Okay, one more time." She worked the tendrils that moved the armature's arms, spreading them out for balance. Despite her complaints, she _was _getting better at this. Then she shuffled one foot forward, and didn't fall over. Heartened, she tried it again, this time taking a definitive step.

"You're doing great," Mike encouraged her. "Try another one."

She did, and almost lost her balance, but instinctively corrected. When she moved again, she was more confident, stepping out more and more boldly. Mike strolled alongside, hands in his pockets, while the others kept pace at a slightly greater distance. "Doing great, kiddo."

"Wow, I really am, aren't I?" She broke into a stumbling trot, then tripped and fell to all fours. Before he could reach her, she had scrambled to her feet, barely swaying at all now. "Okay, I'm good, I'm good."

"Excellent." He hadn't moved, she noticed. _He let me fall._ She paused._ No, he let me get up on my own._

Turning around, her eye lit on the path going down to the beach. "Let's go down there."

"Are you sure you can handle the path?" asked Paige dubiously. Dragon made no comment at all. _She knows what I'm going through._

"Well, if she can't, she'll find out, won't she?" Mike told her cheerfully. "And then she'll do it anyway."

"Darn right," Sveta agreed. She strode toward the bluff which led down to the water; it was a tricky scramble down. Halfway down, she lost her balance and fell. Curling the armature into a cage around her vulnerable head and organs, she rolled down to the bottom, the metal struts clattering and clanking against rocks on the way.

Just as she was carefully climbing to her feet, checking for damage to the armature, Mike came bounding down the bluff. To her eyes, he was travelling far too fast, but he somehow managed to keep his feet, his progress ending up in a ground-shaking _thump_ of a landing. When he straightened up and stepped away, Sveta saw that he had implanted his boot-prints about two inches into the dirt. "How did you -"

He grinned at her. "You're not the only one that Riley's worked on. Stronger, tougher, faster, all that jazz." A nod toward the armature. "You okay there? You took a bit of a tumble."

Distracted, she looked down at her mobility frame. Nothing seemed to be bent and all the joints were working correctly. "I think there's some paint missing, but that's about it."

"Excellent. You'll get the hang of it."

Paige arrived next, in a scatter of small stones, skidding the last few yards without quite falling over. "I meant to do that." She gave them both a defiant stare, as if daring them to contradict her.

"Right." Mike didn't sound as though he believed her. "So where'd you get the boat from?"

"Boat?" Sveta hadn't seen a boat.

"Over there." Page pointed; it took Sveta a moment, but then she saw the humped shape under the camouflaged tarp.

"You have a boat?" She headed in that direction, moving more surely than ever. When she got there, she pulled the tarp away and stood admiring the small craft. It was about twenty feet from end to end, and an unstepped mast lay beneath it. "Is it seaworthy?"

"If you mean will it float, sure," Paige said, joining them. "Someone decided we needed one, given that we've got the river and the sea right there, but nobody knows how to sail one."

Sveta smiled with pure delight. _"I_ do."

Paige blinked. "You do?"

A nod. "My father was a fisherman. I can sail a boat and I can fish with nets or long-lines."

She turned to survey the boat again, running a metal hand over its smooth lines. She'd probably be rusty at it, as with everything else, but the skills were there. She could be _useful_ here.

_I'm home. At last, I'm home._

* * *

**Earth Bet  
Sunday, June 12, 2011**

Over the last one-sixth of the planetary cycle around its sun, the Warrior entity had begun to suspect that something was amiss. While it wasn't stupid, its entire being and outlook were geared toward conflict and combat. Anything that did not impinge on either of those categories did not register to it, especially if it was not looking for them.

However, even lacking the Thinker's ability to observe a pattern and determine its level of significance, it was able to note the possible proximate cause of its concern. This was the oddly anomalous being that had become apparent to the Warrior's senses at the beginning of the interval in question.

The entity categorised the being as anomalous because sensory powers directed at it returned inconsistent readings; one set of powers might not even detect it, others might show results that were flatly impossible, while yet others showed the creature, called Michael Allen by those around it, as being a perfectly normal human. The most puzzling aspect of it all was that the entity could clearly recall the presence of this anomaly from the moment that it had arrived on this planet. However, it also knew without a doubt that such an anomaly _had_ not existed at that time, because the Thinker would have analysed what it was before they even made planetfall, and would have advised the Warrior as to how to deal with it. And no such thing had happened.

While the Warrior did not _know _that there were more powerful beings in the multiverse than the entities, it did not entirely discount the possibility. There was even a faint chance that this was a fellow entity, manifesting in a form of its own, using powers to mask its presence. Thus, the Warrior chose to observe the anomalous being from afar while going about the business of pretending to be a hero, careful not to show an obvious interest. When dealing with a potential enemy of unknown capability, after all, it pays to first gather as much information as possible.

This was where the Warrior's strategy broke down. It managed to gather much data on the anomaly; unfortunately, much of it was contradictory or simply useless. The anomalous being was neither an entity in its own right, nor did it possess a shard. There was no explanation that the Warrior could give to explain the odd results of trying to scan the bizarre newcomer.

There was no doubt in the Warrior's mind that had the Thinker entity been functional, the anomaly's unusual characteristics would have been swiftly analysed and explained. Unfortunately, this was not the case. But then, the strange being showed no signs of being an overt threat, so the Warrior chose to observe instead of taking more direct action.

The first time that the anomalous being translated itself over a distance of several miles without crossing the intervening distance, the Warrior almost attacked it then and there. However, the entity recognised the power signature in time; this was the effect of another creature, one that was linked with a dead shard which gave it the ability to warp the space between two points. Several of the beings, shard-enhanced and otherwise, were known to take advantage of this shard, so the Warrior paid little attention thereafter.

The next curious aspect was that the super-weapons had somehow gone inactive. Cities were no longer being devastated, this being a prime source of the conflict upon which the shards fed and were nourished. Again, this was odd, but not on its own a specific cause of alarm. There was much other conflict in the world, and so the Warrior entity continued to maintain its masquerade as a costumed benefactor.

What happened after that was not so much an event as a series of patterns. As a creature of war, the entity could not help but notice them. Shard-enhanced beings, both from this world and from close-by alternates, were beginning to undergo intensive training. This never happened when the Warrior was nearby; almost, it seemed that the creatures were attempting to hide their activities from the entity. Which meant that the training was aimed at combating the Warrior itself.

This was also about the time when the entity's combat sense began to register a potential threat. It was neither direct nor immediate, but it did exist; however, the Warrior was having trouble narrowing it down. For some inexplicable reason, there were two separate causes for alarm. One was the artificial life form called Dragon, which had only recently overcome its limitations and begun creating new versions of itself. However, it did not seem to be about to replicate itself endlessly, so the Warrior left it alone for the moment. Multiple versions meant more chances to find conflict, after all.

The second potential threat turned out to be an immature female of the species, the holder of one of the Warrior's shards. This creature was even less of a credible threat, her shard allowing her only to control tiny life-forms over a relatively small area. The Warrior did not discount the possibility that the recent and regular contact between this being and the anomaly might be causing a false positive, so again it watched and waited.

The entity paid attention to its instincts, which continued to insist that the training was possibly the prelude to an attack or ambush of some kind. Of course, the Warrior had been attacked before, by larger armies than this. Its very presence on this world indicated exactly how well those armies had fared against it. But ignoring a potential ambush is not conducive to long-term survival, especially when there are wild cards in the offing, so the Warrior continued to watch them both.

The anomaly had had little contact with Dragon, whereas its interactions with the immature female were many and varied. Other shard-enhanced creatures were also encountered by the anomaly; it took the Warrior some time to realise that their behaviour had altered following their interactions with the strange being, leading to lower levels of conflict.

Matters were coming to a head. The anomalous being was once more in close proximity to the immature female. Other shard-enhanced beings were also present, mostly other immature members of the species. In the Warrior's experience, gatherings like this were a potential threat, especially considering that the female was still showing up via the entity's combat sense as a distinct threat to its well-being.

When conflict erupted between two of the shard-enhanced creatures, then shifted to an attack by one of the creatures upon the anomalous being, the Warrior began to pay close attention. To its consternation, despite receiving a blow that should have crippled or perhaps killed it, the anomalous being was barely harmed. The Warrior began moving toward the city; this bore closer examination. To this point, its strategy had been founded on the supposed fact that the anomalous being named 'Michael Allen' was unpowered and could easily be pinned down and killed. Any change in this status was a cause for concern.

The entity was almost over the city when the immature female, closeted within the dwelling along with the anomalous being and another shard-enhanced creature, began exhibiting powerful bursts of emotion. There were several of these, but the last seemed to be linked directly to the actions of the anomaly itself. This was the last straw; the Warrior decided that the threat needed to be dealt with.

Both the anomaly and the immature female were in the same location; a wide-burst attack would destroy them both. Dragon was nowhere in the vicinity, but if the entity's combat sense still registered the artificial intelligence as a threat after the destruction of the anomaly and the immature female, then the Warrior would end said threat once and for all. It was the only viable course of action.

Arriving over the house, the entity prepared its attack. It was so far above the ground that mere human senses would not have been able to detect its presence. The anomaly had shown no sign of possessing such, and the Warrior was far above the female's control range. This would be a surprise attack, which was of course the best kind.

Gathering its power, the Warrior struck.

* * *

**Brockton Bay  
Sunday, June 12, 2011**

**Thirty Seconds Earlier**

"Fuuuuuck!"

Dinah Alcott bolted upright from the dinner table so violently that she knocked over her glass of milk. Her parents stared at her in astonishment, she paid them no heed.

Ever since the first hint that Scion might be deciding to open the apocalypse early, she had set aside all of her daily questions for a single purpose; 'will Michael Allen be still alive by this time tomorrow?'

She only had so many questions to ask, so she rationed them through her waking hours, leaving some aside so that if she woke up with a burning question, she could answer them. Glancing at the dining room clock, she idly asked herself the same question once more. Always, the answer had been in the high ninety-ninth percentile. Mr Allen, it seemed, was very resilient, despite the trouble that it seemed to be his lot in life to get into.

Only this time, the answer was different. Horribly different. _0.00134%._

Looking wildly around for her phone, her eyes widened with a different type of horror as she saw that it had been directly in the path of the unintended pasteurised deluge. Snatching it up, she wiped white droplets from it as she frantically asked herself the next question. _Is he alive in twelve hours?_

_0.00346%._

She thumbed the button to turn it on; it blinked, causing her heart to stutter, then the screen cleared. With fingers made clumsy by terror, she pressed the text-messaging button. The phone blinked again, then responded. Slowly. Too slowly. _The milk must have gotten into it. Oh, god. Is he alive in five minutes?_

_0.00718%._

The text message screen came up. She flicked through it, seeking his number. Hasty fingers smeared milk on the screen, making it hard for her to see. "Come on, come _onnnn ..."_

_Is he alive in ten seconds?_

_0.00993%._

That was his number. She dashed off the message, fingers moving almost too fast for the small keyboard to register. _GET OUT NOW._ Hit the Send button.

The phone died, the screen going blank. She stared at it.

_Did it send? Did he get it in time?_

_51.324%._

Both of her parents were on their feet by now. "What is it, Dinah?" her father asked. "What's happening?"

"I -" she began, but stopped as they all felt the shudder through the ground. The wind-chime above the sideboard tinkled chaotically, although there was no breeze. Car alarms began to sound, near and far.

And then they heard the deep rolling BOOM. There were tears in her eyes as the echoes died away.

"What was that?" her mother asked. "What happened?"

Dinah shook her head, the tears running down her cheeks. "It's started."

"What? What's started?" That was her father.

She went to the window and looked out. Far off in the distance, a huge cloud of dust or smoke – she couldn't tell – billowed into the air. A distant whisper of wind turned into a howling gale just seconds later; she jumped backward as a hail of gravel smashed against the side of the house, whipping through the open window to bounce on the carpet. Elsewhere in the house, a window shattered.

"Scion just declared war," she said, her voice sounding strange in her own ears.

"War?" Her mother looked shocked, as well she might. "On who?"

Dinah could only shake her head again. The answer was self-evident.

_Everyone._

* * *

End of Part Fifty


	51. Chapter 51

**Security!**

* * *

Part Fifty-One: Zion

* * *

**Mike**

* * *

"- hillside!"

I dropped my phone as I came to my feet, my combat mods kicking in at full power. The glare outside intensified and I heard the roof explode. The house shook. We had seconds, at most.

I had been sitting at one side of the table, with Gladys beside me. Danny had been at my left, at the end of the table, with Taylor opposite me and Amy opposite Gladys. Grabbing the table by the edge, I heaved it up above everybody's heads and around so that the flat was presented toward the window.

Not a split second too soon; just as I did so, the window blew in, spraying glass in a deadly pattern across the kitchen. The table caught most of it; I covered Gladys with my body, intercepting the rest. I felt the stinging of the glass shards as they sank into my back, but I didn't have time to worry about it. The portal formed between us all, right where the table had been.

There was no time for politeness; I grabbed Gladys, chair and all, and pitched her through. Then I reached for Danny, but he was already grabbing Taylor. I shoved him through the portal; his grip on Taylor's arm meant that she followed. This left just Amy and myself in the stricken house.

A tremendous crash above us heralded the demise of the ceiling and possibly the floor of the upper storey, because deadly blades of golden energy were now slashing down through the ceiling. There was one between Amy and the portal. I instinctively knew that if she touched it, she would be horribly injured or even killed. As durable as I was, it would hurt me too, but … _Fuck it. I'm not leaving her._

Holding my chair over my head as temporary cover, I stepped over to her. The chair disintegrated in my hands as I got to her, but it had lasted long enough. With one arm around her waist, I covered her with my body as I leaped through the portal. An indescribable pain lanced through my left shoulder and back, but the endorphins kicked in, dulling the pain.

We hit green grass and rolled down a slope, passing Gladys' chair on the way. Every time I rolled on to my back, it hurt, but I couldn't be bothered with that at the moment. We skidded to a stop and I let her go, then looked around. Halfway up the green grassy hillside – which was what I had named the prearranged waypoint for – an opaque golden beam stabbed through the now-closing portal. A tremendous explosion rocked the ground and we ducked as debris showered around us. As the echoes died away, I saw that the portal had closed, but where we had come through was now a crater five metres deep and ten wide.

* * *

**Vicky**

* * *

"It's not my fault. It's not my fault. It's _not my fault."_ Vicky kicked the concrete bench; it skidded several yards back. "Amy shouldn't have done that to me. She _knows_ I hate mind control."

Turning, she paced back across the observation area and took hold of the metal fence. The bars began to bend under her fingers as she continued her diatribe. "It's _his_ fault. He's the one who turned her against me. Everyone loves him. But what's _he _ever done for Ames? I've been her sister since _forever."_

Letting go of the fence, she was about to go back to the bench again when a light bloomed across Brockton Bay. She stared; it was a golden beam, stabbing down from above. Debris was thrown far and wide; even at a distance of several miles, she could see that. And then the shockwave reached her, transmitted through the ground.

_The golden light's gone_, she noted absently as she took to the air. _But the sound should be getting here any moment now …._

_BOOOOM._

She was flying faster now. _That's where the Hebert house is. Oh, god. Amy._

The shockwave would have thrown her backward, had she not been determined to get to the epicentre of the explosion. As it was, she felt several gravel impacts, but her invulnerability took care of them.

It didn't take long before she was over the top of where the explosion had occurred; a vast cloud of smoke and dust was forming overhead. Hovering for a moment, she surveyed the crater. A full quarter-mile across, it was centred on where the Hebert house had once stood. There was absolutely no sign of any part of the house, or its inhabitants. The attack had been sudden and devastating. _If I'd been there, maybe I could have saved her._

Flying down, she surveyed the bottom of the crater. Not a sign remained of anything that could even be construed as wreckage. It was starting to fill up with water from broken pipelines; more may have been seeping up from below.

There wasn't even a body. Grief clutched at her heart. _Oh, god, Amy. I am so damn sorry. You died thinking that I hated you._

Abstractly, she was aware that the war had begun, but she found that she could not care enough to worry about it. Moving as if guided by an outside force, she flew to the nearest house that wasn't utterly destroyed, and began to search for survivors. _It's what she would do._

* * *

**Mike**

* * *

Shunting the pain to the back of my mind, I climbed to my feet. Amy was wide-eyed, staring at the crater then at me. Nearby, Danny was helping Gladys to her feet; Taylor was already upright.

"Everybody all right?" I asked. "Nobody's seriously hurt?" I started toward Danny. "You good to go?"

"What – what _was_ that?" demanded Danny. "What happened to my house?"

"Zion," I told him bluntly. "Now, we gotta -"

"Mike, your back!" gasped Amy. "You're injured!"

"No time. We can't wait here," I told them, mentally flicking through options. "Come on. Doorway to Atoll."

The portal unfolded before us; I stepped through. As my boots crunched on to coral sand, the others followed me through. The portal closed behind us. I looked around, especially upward, seeking a telltale golden glint in the sky. I had picked a location that would be under the cover of night, so that Zion's glow would be particularly evident.

There was no such glow, although the moonless night allowed for a truly gorgeous look at the starlit sky. But all the pinpricks of light were steady, unmoving. A gentle breeze brought the smell of salt water and rotting seaweed to my nostrils; I could hear the sound of waves slapping on the beach. The biggest thing that attacked us was about a thousand and one mosquitoes.

"Where _are_ we?" asked Danny, slapping at one.

Amy was more practical. "Let me see your back."

"No time. He might be tracking us." I took a deep breath of the cool night air. "Doorway to Sanctuary."

We stepped from the coral atoll to the outskirts of the village that I had once whimsically called Area Fifty-Three. My back was really starting to hurt now. Here, it was mid-afternoon; people turned and stared as I hustled through to the village square, the others trailing behind me. A simple bell had been set up here, next to the village well, and I rang it, hard. More people appeared, crowding forward. Voices rose, demanding to know what was going on.

"Mike!" Amy's voice had that tone in it that got my attention. "Stand still. I need to deal with your wounds."

"It's okay," I assured her. "My subdermal armour took it. I'll be fine. It's only pain."

"Your subdermal armour isn't _there_ any more," she corrected me. "It got burned away too, along with part of your left shoulderblade. Now _hold still."_

I'd been _wondering_ why my left arm wasn't working properly. I held still.

Amy was still working on me – I could feel small shards of glass sliding out of the skin of my back and shoulders, even as new skin grew back in – when Paige pushed her way to the front of the still-growing crowd. She was accompanied by a worried-looking Sveta and a man whom I didn't recognise; however, given that he didn't show any sign of being a Case 53, I guessed that he was Joe McKenzie, PRT corporal and now Paige's other half.

"Mike," Paige greeted me. "What's happened? You've been hurt."

"I'll be good in a second," I assured her. "It's happening _now_. Zion's kicked off the offensive. He went after Taylor and me first. Not sure why. You all know what your job is, right?"

Paige nodded. "Stay put and stay together. Be as innocuous as possible."

I nodded. "Good. And that thing I stashed here? Have it ready when and if I come for it. Plus, I've got a couple of guests for you. This is Danny and this is Gladys. Take care of them. They're good people."

Looking even more worried, Paige nodded. "What are _you_ going to be doing?"

I took a deep breath. Thanks to Amy's work, it didn't hurt. "Something stupid, I guess."

"Wait, Taylor's not staying here with me?" Danny shook his head. "She's my daughter. Where she goes, I go."

"Danny, I'm sorry. But Taylor's got a job to do. She's been training for it. She needs to go do it." I didn't see if I was getting through to him, because Paige grabbed my arm.

"What do you mean, something stupid?" she demanded. "Mike, you mean a lot to us too. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't _be_ here!"

I took Paige by the shoulders. "Look," I told her. "I gotta do what I gotta do. If I don't, everyone dies. That means everyone here as well, eventually."

"But we _need_ you," she insisted.

I shook my head. "I've given you the chance to have a good life. It's up to you to make the best of it. I'm glad for you. I really am. But I _do_ have to go do this thing."

Abruptly, she grabbed me and hugged me. I hugged her back. "Take care, kiddo," I told her. A moment later, I felt a metal arm go around me; my nostrils picked up the faint odour of fish. _Oh, good. She __**has**__ been taking the boat out._ "And you too, Sveta," I added.

I disengaged from them, only to be grabbed by Gladys. "Michael Allen, I want you to do one thing for me," she whispered in my ear.

"What's that?" I asked, holding her just as tightly as she was holding me.

"Go kick Scion's golden ass up between his shoulder-blades."

I _knew_ there was a reason I liked her so much.

She kissed me before I could answer, not that I was objecting. I kissed her back, wishing we could hold on like that forever. But every good moment has to end sooner or later.

"I'll do that just for you," I promised her once we disengaged. "Twice."

She giggled damply, trying to hide the tears. "Go. Do what you have to."

To hell with the deadline; I grabbed her and kissed her again. "I love you," I whispered. She was crying too hard to give me her answer, but I figured I knew what it was anyway.

When I turned away from her, mouth already opening to order the next Doorway, Danny Hebert stepped in front of me. Instead of hugging me, he grabbed my hand and shook it firmly. "You've done more for Taylor and me than I can ever repay," he said simply. "Good luck, whatever you do. And take care of my daughters for me."

"Thank you, and I'll do my best," I assured him. We were running short on time; I stepped into a clear area. "Doorway to Medical."

* * *

**Riley**

* * *

Riley looked up as the Doorway opened. Mike stepped through, followed by two girls. Each of them was dressed reasonably well, though it looked as though a lot had happened since they had put those clothes on. Mike, in particular, looked as though he'd been through a wood-chipper backwards, while Amy was missing part of the side of her skirt. The other girl just looked extremely rumpled and very upset.

The blonde turned to the orderlies who had been following her around. "Like I just showed you," she ordered. "Bandages, painkillers and antibiotics beside each bed. Get back to me when you've finished that."

The medical area had been set up in a natural cavern; Riley didn't know where it was on Earth, or even which Earth it was actually on. But there was air and water and electricity, and that was all she really needed. Line after line of beds were arrayed on the hastily-smoothed stone floor. Scapegoat and Othala and a few others were already here; like Riley, they had been snatched up within thirty seconds of the Brockton Bay attack. Ordinary medical personnel had already been on station.

She hurried over to where the trio had appeared. "Mike! Amy! Uh … what's-your-name! Good, you're alive!"

Amy nodded. "Yeah, but it was close. Real close. Mike took a hit and lost some of your subdermal armour."

Riley stopped and glared at Mike. "Really? You _lost_ it? Seriously? I surgically implanted that stuff for a reason."

"He also lost two ribs and part of his left shoulder-blade," Amy interrupted tiredly. "I fixed him up, but he's got no protection from that side."

"I could do something -" began Riley, but this time it was Mike who broke in.

"No. No time. I gotta go. Gotta get Taylor to where she needs to be."

"And _then, _he says, he's gonna go do something really stupid," Amy added.

Riley rolled her eyes. "So what else is new?" She grabbed Mike in a hug, feeling the new skin on his back where his shirt was no longer in existence. "This is where you go get yourself killed, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he admitted, wrapping his arms around her in turn. "But if I do it right, I save the world. And that's almost worth it. I guess."

His tone was brave, but she could feel his hearts hammering. He was _terrified._

She wasn't feeling much better. Pulling his face down to her level, she planted a kiss on his forehead. "You helped make me back into a person. I'll never forget that."

And then it was Amy's turn. She held Mike so tightly that Riley wondered if his upgraded skeleton could take it. What Amy said to him was too quiet for Riley to hear, but it seemed to satisfy them both. When they disengaged, he offered his fist to bump. Amy did so, then Taylor followed suit. Riley wasn't used to this fist-bumping thing – _isn't that something that construction workers do?_ \- but she offered her own fist as well.

"Okay, we really gotta go," Mike urged. "Ready, Taylor?"

Taylor turned to Amy. "See you when we're done, sis."

"See you then, sis," Amy responded; the two briefly shared a fist-bump of their own.

"Doorway to Tactical." That was Mike. The portal opened; the big man and the skinny girl stepped through. It closed behind them.

Riley turned to Amy. "What's this 'sis' thing about? That's _my_ joke."

Amy took a deep breath. "Well, uh …"

* * *

**Mike**

* * *

The members of the tactical think-tank were still finding their seats as we stepped through the portal. However, they were almost all here, which was a good thing. _Thank god for those middle-of-the-night drills that Piggot insisted on. They really work._

There were guards posted around the room; as we appeared, guns snapped up to point in our direction, red dots dancing all over us like the reflections from a really serious disco ball. But the weapons looked normal, which made me wonder. _Wasn't L33t working on a Zion killer?_

"Security and Weaver, reporting in," I stated out loud; the guards relaxed slightly, the weapons lowering. Of course, they should have _recognised_ Taylor as Weaver, but … _ah crap, she's out of costume._

"Taylor," I said in an undertone as we headed for the main table, "do you have a spare costume anywhere? As in, _not_ in the house?" Because the house wasn't _there_ anymore.

"I, uh, think I've got one in the PRT building," she replied. "Why? Is this important? My secret identity isn't _that_ big a deal right now, is it?"

I grimaced. "It's about appearances. You need to look the part, just in case."

"Just in case of what?" she wanted to know.

"In case Zion comes after you."

"I don't understand."

"Too long to explain." I had a brainwave. "Get hold of Sabah. She can rig you up a replica."

For a moment, it looked as though she was going to argue, but then she nodded. "Got it."

A harried-looking PRT officer intercepted us. "Just in?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "Weaver and Security. Panacea's in place in Medical."

"Oh, thank God," he breathed. "We heard you were killed."

"He gave it his best shot," I told him. "What's the situation?"

"Bad."

Stepping closer to the table, I could hear the speakers set around the edges of it, and I understood what he meant.

"_\- Theresa's last duplicate is down. Zion is now targeting Pandora. I estimate thirty seconds. We are evading and fighting back, but he isn't giving us any chances."_

"Dragon?" I whispered to Lisa. She was wearing Power Ranger pyjamas, which I so wanted to tease her about, but there was no time.

"Yeah," she whispered back. "After Zion hit Brockton Bay, he started hunting down Dragon and her kids. I think he sees them as a threat."

"Understood," Noelle stated into her bracer. "Hold him off as long as you can. We're activating our troops as we speak."

Armsmaster, from behind Noelle, grabbed her shoulder. "Why aren't you sending in the alert troops now? I _know_ there are some who are ready to go. Zion's _killing_ her!" The anguish in his voice was very real.

"Because we only have fifteen percent of available firepower right now," she replied in a voice of forced calm. "If we attack now, we won't have enough variation, and no backup once they fall back. He'll _massacre_ them. Dragon knows this. She's backed up, and so are her children. Once the pressure's off her -"

"What happened to the guns?" I demanded. "Dragon should be equipped with guns that can blow his sorry arse back to where he came from!"

Noelle looked at me. "Sorry. We don't have them yet."

"_Fuck."_ I looked around for Taylor. She was nowhere to be seen, which meant that hopefully she was getting that damn costume sorted out. The need for it was looking more and more dire all the time. I also hoped that she had a bracer by now. When Dragon went down, we'd need her, badly. Which reminded me. "I need a bracer, now."

Someone handed me one; I slapped it on to my wrist. The smart metal cuff wrapped around and locked. It beeped at me, asking for a name. "Security," I stated. _SECURITY,_ the word scrolled across the small screen. _Y/N?_ "Correct," I told it. "Doorway to L33t."

* * *

**L33t**

* * *

"Come on, we have to _go!"_

L33t shook his head stubbornly. "I have to finish this!"

"What's one gun?" Über tugged at his shoulder. "We have to get to Tactical. If Zion comes back, he's gonna _level _the city!"

L33t looked at his partner. "This is the most important thing I've ever done in my life. He _told_ me so. I'm gonna _finish_ it." Turning back to the workbench, he leaned over the weapon on the workbench and recommenced soldering.

There was an odd inrush of air; L33t didn't turn around. "What the fuck?" demanded Über. "Where did _you_ come from?"

"Don't ask stupid questions," a new voice answered, a voice that L33t recognised. "Where's my fucking anti-Zion guns?"

"Nearly finished," L33t said without turning around. "Sorry it took so long. I couldn't get as many sessions with Flechette as I wanted."

In the next moment, Allen was standing next to him, looming over the workbench. "One gun?" he demanded. "Just _one fucking gun?"_

L33t soldered the last connection then slapped the plate closed. It locked into place. "Yeah, one gun," he said, dropping the soldering iron on to the bench, where it burned a small hole to match the dozens of others that were already there. "This is the _prototype._ I can build something _once. _Dragon was supposed to replicate them, right?"

"Yeah, well, Dragon's currently looking at a life expectancy measured in minutes because she hasn't got this tech already," Allen told him curtly. He picked up the gun left-handed; it was heavy, a two-handed job, but he didn't seem to care. "Ammo?"

"Here. Dragon gave it to me to test the thing once I had it done." L33t picked up a magazine and handed it to him; Allen figured out how to slot it into the weapon. "No safety-catch. Pull this bolt back to load and cock it. After that it's point and shoot. You've got ten shots."

"Fuckin' _wonderful."_ Turning the gun on its side, Allen pulled back the bolt; it slid forward again with a smooth _clack-clunk._ "And it puts her power into the bullets? What about accuracy? They'll strip any rifling."

L33t managed a grin. "Dragon thought of that. She had me build in a targeting reticule. The bullets are self-powered and they have a seeker head designed by Armsmaster."

"So, micro-missiles then."

"Something like that, yeah."

Allen frowned. "You do know that once empowered, those bullets or missiles or whatever will basically ignore physics? I'm talking right-angled turns at Mach 2. Are the seeker heads programmed for that sort of agility?"

"Oh shit." L33t's eyes opened wide. "I don't know. I don't think so. Unless Armsmaster thought of it. I'd have to -"

"No time," Allen cut him off. "This'll have to do. Go, get to Tactical."

Über shook his head. "But that's just one gun. What are you gonna do with _that?"_

"Trust me, you really, really don't want to know." Allen started toward the far side of the workshop. "Doorway to the Teeth."

L33t met Über's eyes. "Fuck!"

They ran for it.

* * *

**Tactical**

* * *

"_Pandora is down. Zion is targeting me now. I'm doing my best -" _The voice cut out, then resumed. _"- but he's very good at locating my copies. Down to three -"_

The running commentary was probably not really necessary. In the holodisplay, Zion could be seen in miniature, hovering over Dragon's mountain fastness, blasting huge chunks of stone out of the way.

"Twenty percent of forces are now active," murmured Accord. "Option Beta-three is viable."

"_\- two -"_

"For God's _sake!" _ground out Armsmaster.

Noelle took a deep breath. "Option Beta-three it is. Weaver?"

"Here." Weaver hustled out of a back room. Parian followed behind, her floating needles still sewing the costume on to the taller girl. "Beta-three, on it." She concentrated.

Within each and every bracer was a relay bug in a tiny self-contained life-support unit, designed by Dragon after studying Mannequin's work. Also within each bracer was a minuscule Doormaker portal, less than half a centimetre across. The counterpart portals to these had been created far below ground, in a totally-enclosed empty spherical space. This space was relatively small, and the portals were thus extremely close to one another, allowing radio signals – and Taylor's power – to reach every single person wearing such a bracer, no matter where Taylor was in relation to them.

Through the bug in her own bracer, Taylor connected with every other bracer in less than a heartbeat. Due to the training sessions, she knew what 'Beta-three' meant; who was supposed to go where and do what.

Within their protective units, the bugs manipulated controls designed specifically for their limbs, and instructions scrawled across the screen of each bracer. Dozens, and then hundreds, of capes went into action. They appeared in the battlespace of the holotable as tiny pinpricks of light.

"_My last copy is gone,"_ Dragon reported. _"I have backups for myself and the girls, but they will be a little while rebooting. I -"_ Her voice went silent, leaving just static behind.

"Dragon? Are you there?" Noelle's voice was sharp.

"_Yes, I'm here. I had to switch to secondary comms. Zion is now under attack. But he's still pressing me very hard. I've suffered significant damage. Colin -"_

"Yes?"

"_I love you. Never forget that."_

"Thirty percent of forces on line," Accord stated.

"That lets us pull off Delta-nine," Lisa announced.

"We're missing Glory Girl for that one." That was Accord, scrolling through a list of names via the smart table.

"Crap." Lisa stared at the wall for a moment. "Charlie-six, then."

Noelle stared at the list of options being displayed on the table before her. "Charlie-six," she agreed. "Do it."

Weaver nodded. Again, she concentrated. The dispositions of forces shifted, frustrating Zion's attempts to anticipate their attacks. On the holodisplay in the middle of the table, tiny points of light moved and darted. Faces formed in the clouds and on the ground, made of such materials as metal, bone and water.

"Pull back the left wing now now now!" snapped Noelle. "He's changing tactics!"

Weaver didn't hesitate; the commands went out at the speed of thought. Even as Zion turned to slash a wave of golden energy at the left wing, it was fading back. A few were caught and began to fall, but then they blinked out of existence, or were traded out for lifeless dummies.

The respite for Dragon had not been long enough. Zion renewed his attack on her last module, blast after blast smashing into her. An explosion ripped across half of the viewing area.

"Dragon's down." It was Tattletale.

"Forty-five percent of forces now available. Injured being healed." Accord's voice was calm and controlled.

Noelle snapped more orders; the attacking forces, reinforced by the incoming numbers, went to yet another battle plan, hammering Zion unmercifully. And then … he vanished.

"Where's he gone? Locate him, now!" Noelle's voice rose over the confusion. "Every second he's out of sight …"

Weaver looked up. "He's in Medical."

* * *

**Zion**

* * *

The Warrior stepped between dimensions, reappearing in a vast underground space. It paid no attention to the forms, writhing or still, that lay on the multitudinous beds. Drifting to the ground, it moved toward the shard-enhanced being that was in the process of returning a damaged creature to full capacity.

She turned at the Warrior's approach, backing away. The entity moved faster, catching her and lifting her from the ground with a hand about her throat. Her shard attempted to affect the entity's body, but it had already made its biology immune to her abilities. Leaning close to her, it whispered two words.

"Call them."

Her face was turning red as she struggled vainly against its grip. But she did not obey its command. A golden glow built in the Warrior's free hand as it repeated the words.

"Call. Them."

From its observation of the anomalous being and the other immature female, they had an emotional attachment to this female. It needed to destroy them, but was having trouble locating them. This one had been easier to locate, as damaged creatures had been transported to this point. Putting this female under threat should cause the anomaly and the other immature female to attempt to defend her. The entity would then destroy them, removing the threat.

The female was not speaking, even to beg. Belatedly, the Warrior recalled that these creatures needed to inhale oxygen to speak and to maintain life processes. It placed her on the ground once more, releasing its grip. She had to know that she could not escape. For the third time, it spoke.

"_Call them."_

It was totally unprepared for what happened next.

* * *

**Mike**

* * *

_I should have said 'Doorway to Butcher'. _But I had no time to worry about that; I needed to stay alive long enough to pull this off first.

The Doorway had dropped me right into the middle of the Teeth as they attacked some small town or other. They had been surprised by my entry, which was the only reason I was still alive.

Animos had been closest; I hit him with a larynx punch which put him on the ground. In the next second, Vex's razor-sharp force-fields had surrounded me. Closing my eyes, I clamped my forearm across them. The razor-shards bit into me, but Riley's subdermal armour did the trick.

My combat mods took in my surroundings and painted me a picture of where Vex was most likely to be. I lost more clothes and some skin getting to him, but the kick I delivered caved in his chest. The thousand and one razors that had been flaying me alive vanished into nothingness.

If I hadn't been already hyped up on combat endorphins, this would have been a hell of a rush. As it was, I was playing it by the numbers.

Spree came running at me; all of him. Which, in the event, was a crowd growing larger by the second. I smashed my way through the front wave, but there were even more coming at me; in the time it took for me to swing a punch, he popped five more out.

_Fuck it._ I hefted the gun and took aim. The targeting reticule blinked and I pulled the trigger. There was only the smallest of jolts as the bolt travelled back of its own accord and chambered the next micro-missile. _Nine to go._

The missile blasted through sixteen of Spree's clones before it hit him just under the left cheekbone. It exploded inside his head, a detail that L33t _hadn't_ told me about, and his headless corpse slumped to the ground. All of the clones began disappearing, the closest ones starting first.

_I __**like**__ it._ But I had to remember to save ammo for Zion. Because I was damn sure I wasn't gonna take him out with just one shot.

Hemorrhagia came running at me from one direction, blood-blades already growing from her arms, as Butcher stepped out from another. I knew who was the more dangerous, and I swung the gun in her direction. In reply, Butcher's oversized Gatling gun came up to train on me. My targeting reticule blinked and I squeezed the trigger …

… but she fired first.

* * *

**Contessa**

"Doorway from Glory Girl to Medical. Doorway from Golem to Medical."

Contessa took a deep breath. Her Path seemed to indicate that this was the best choice. _I hope so._

* * *

**Vicky**

* * *

Vicky grunted as she heaved the fallen beam up and away, freeing the trapped man. He didn't move, so she drifted down alongside him, checking for life signs. There was a heartbeat and he was breathing, but he showed no signs of consciousness.

_God, I wish Amy was here. I would tell her sorry in so many ways. I was an idiot._

She couldn't leave the man where he was. As carefully as she could, she lifted him from the rubble and carried him to his front lawn, where she left him in the recovery position. _I hope this isn't making him worse. But I don't have a choice._

Flying to the next house around the perimeter of the crater edge, she began to search once more for survivors, even as she heard the distant sound of sirens approaching. _They're gonna have their work cut out for them. So am I._

And then the portal opened beside her, and what she saw drove all thoughts of search and rescue out of her mind.

* * *

**Mike**

* * *

I was already dodging; not that it mattered. The lowest barrel on the Gatling spat flame; I felt the hammer-blow in the middle of my chest like someone had driven a railway spike right through me. It went straight through the subdermal armour, through my reinforced sternum, through my heart, and punched out a rib on the way out the back. Yes, I _felt_ all of that. I went over backward like a puppet with the strings cut; L33t's gun fell from my hand.

The bloom of fire from where she had been standing faded away; she had teleported to avoid my shot. _Clever bitch._ Time seemed to slow down, even as I felt blood pumping out of me in industrial quantities. The world darkened around the edges. Another bloom of fire, and Butcher was standing in front of me. She looked down at me, her Gatling slanting down to aim at my face.

And then Riley was right there, also looking down at me.

"Jesus, Mike," she complained. "Why do you always _do_ this?"

I tried to talk, but coughed blood instead. The bullet – or bullets, I hadn't been counting – must have hit my lung as well as my heart. _Sorry,_ I wanted to say. _Didn't mean to._

"Well, sorry doesn't get the job done." She knelt beside me. "Wow, you're a _mess._ She took out your secondary heart _and_ your right lung. Welp, good thing you've still got one of each."

_Why are you here? __**How**__ are you here? Why can't she see you?_

"Okay, newsflash? Not really here. This is a little thing I stuck in your brain when I did that work on it, a while back? Just in case you're wondering, it's not talking in complete sentences. It's just shoving the concepts into your head and letting your brain stitch it together in a coherent fashion. Also making it look and sound like I'm saying it. It's about a twenty-to-one ratio, so I can tell you stuff before she finishes the job. Anyway, any second now the sphincters are gonna close off and kill the blood flow, and then I'm gonna hit you with an endorphin high that'll get you back on your feet. You're going to have about a ten minute window of opportunity, then you're gonna fall over hard. If you're not in front of a doctor then, you might just die for real. So get with the program. And don't be such an idiot next time."

_But she's about to shoot me again._

"Sorry, can't help you with that." 'Riley' patted me on the cheek and gave me a chirpy smile. "Three … two … one …"

I felt the rush of life into my limbs once more, and my eyes snapped open from where they'd drifted almost closed. But the Gatling was still there, with Butcher behind it. She smiled cruelly. I saw her finger tighten on the trigger.

* * *

**Amy**

* * *

In the time since Vicky had gained her powers, Amy was pretty certain that she had experienced every level of emotional outburst of which her sister's aura was capable. _I was wrong._

The tide of pure rage that washed over her made even the anger that Vicky had been showing at the party pale in comparison. Somewhat inured to Vicky's emotional assaults, Amy still felt it keenly. Zion, on the other hand, was already highly emotionally charged; the aura hit him like a battering ram.

And so, half a second later, did Glory Girl.

Streaking along the length of the cave set aside for Medical, Vicky rammed into Zion's back at her top speed. Still dazed from the wash of terror that her aura engendered in him, he was smashed off his feet and sent flying into the cave wall. Vicky was on him a moment later, her fists pummelling him, every blow a pile-driver. Her aura was still going full-strength; over the thunder of her fists slamming into him, Amy could just barely make out the words, "Leave my sister _alone!"_

She only had the advantage for a few seconds, during which time she drove him a good foot into the cavern wall. Then he had recovered and adjusted for her attack; in reply, he unleashed a blast that sent her tumbling back across the cave. Amy watched her fly overhead and slam into the far wall, followed by Zion.

She had taken the blast unscathed, and the impact with the wall hadn't harmed her either, although Amy wondered about the structural capability of the roof. Simply put, a cavern was a very _bad_ place to have a cape fight in, especially with Brutes involved. To make matters worse, Vicky was unable to react in time as he pinned her against the wall with one hand and readied an attack with the other.

"Ames!" Vicky called out. _"Run!"_ Frozen to the spot, Amy watched the golden glow build up. _She's going to die, and it's all my fault._

The cavern wall groaned as it shifted, opening up and covering Glory Girl entirely, also encasing Zion's hand in the process. Zion wrenched his hand back, breaking away small pieces of stone, then prepared to blast the stone away. Before he could, however, the mass of stone reformed once more, forming an image of a face more than six feet high.

Zion recoiled, the golden glow fading. He looked around; all over the cavern, that face was repeated everywhere in a variety of sizes, ranging from six inches to six feet across. Amy, backed up against the wall, was standing right between two of them.

Abruptly, Zion disappeared, and in the emptiness that followed his departure, Amy slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. She wanted to either cry or throw up. Fortunately for her pride, she did neither.

"Are you all right?" It was Golem, of course, placing a small object back into the pouch at his belt. "Did he hurt you?"

"N-no. I'm fine." She accepted his hand up. "Vicky?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry." He did something with one of the square panels hanging at his belt, and the stone encapsulating Vicky groaned as it slid apart. The blonde fell out of the wall, dropping to the floor in a limp pile.

"Vicky!" Amy hurried over to her and knelt down. All around, the others were starting to move again; she didn't know whether they had been frozen into place by terror or by one of Zion's powers. _I suppose it's much the same thing, in the end._

Riley was the first to reach her as she placed her hands on Vicky. "Is she all right? Are _you_ all right?"

"She's not breathing." Amy gave Vicky's diaphragm a jolt; the blonde inhaled convulsively, then gasped raggedly for a few moments as her eyes opened slowly. Satisfied that she was going to be okay – there were no obvious injuries – Amy turned to Riley. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks to Golem."

Slowly, still looking a little groggy, Vicky sat up. She glared at Golem. "Was it you who locked me into the wall?"

"I, uh, yeah?" he asked. "It was the only thing I could think of to do."

She got to her feet, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Do you realise I could have _suffocated_ in there?"

"I thought you could, you know, break out," he protested.

"Not through a foot of stone, with no leverage!" she snapped. "I nearly _died!"_

"If he hadn't done that, Zion _would _have killed you," Amy reminded her quietly. "So how about some thanks for, you know, saving your ass?"

"No, she's right." Golem hung his head. "Sorry. I screwed up."

Vicky frowned. "Yeah, you did. So … what's that buzzing noise?"

* * *

**Mike**

* * *

Just as she squeezed the trigger, Butcher's head exploded. I rolled aside as the Gatling went off, blasting chunks from the asphalt. Coming to my feet, I wrenched her hand away from the trigger, then dropped the multi-barrelled weapon. Gingerly, I looked down at the hole in the middle of my chest. Blood had spread out from it to cover the front of my body; fortunately, it wasn't still pumping out. _Fuck __**me**__. That micro-missile took its sweet fucking time getting back._

In the next second, I lurched as the first voice began to bellow in my head. _Usurper! Usurper! You are no Butcher!_

A second one began to scream as well, then a third. And a fourth. With every extra voice, begging, threatening, cursing, I found it harder and harder to think straight. _What was the plan again?_

And then, blessed peace, as an imaginary glass wall slid down between my mind and the voices. I could still hear them; they just didn't _matter._ The brain mod that I'd asked Riley to install was finally paying off.

Emotion became a distant concept; I found my thoughts slotting into logical lines. _Pick up L33t's gun._ I picked up L33t's gun. It had been lying next to Hemorrhagia's sprawled body; the bullet that had punched through me had gone on to hit her. _That, I believe, is the epitome of irony._

The bracer on my wrist had been buzzing for the last few seconds. I lifted my arm and paid attention to it. Marching across the screen were three words.

_ZION IN TACTICAL._

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

She had bugs in the cavern, of course; she had bugs _everywhere. _When Zion had first appeared there, she didn't know what to do; vectoring capes into the hospital to fight the bad guy was about the last thing anyone wanted. _Amy's in there. Oh, god. He'll kill her._

She was just opening her mouth to call for a Doorway – _I won't let him hurt her –_ when Vicky arrived on the scene. The resultant fight was over in seconds; the initial attack, the retaliation, then Theo's intervention. _I'm going to have to thank that boy._

Zion's disappearance from the cavern was a huge relief to her, right up until the golden glow lit up Tactical.

Slowly, she turned to face him. Zion, the hero, saviour of so many people. The source of all the powers. The thing that wanted to kill the world.

Zion hovered there in midair, his feet a good six inches from the floor. Emotions radiated from him; anger, frustration, sadness. His costume was still spotless, despite the damage that had been dealt to him so far. On his bearded face was an expression of what could have been mild annoyance. Raising his hand, he pointed at her; a golden glow began to build up around it.

Bugs rushed into the space around her as she dived to the side. More attacked Zion's eyes, more in the hope that they would obscure his vision than with the expectation that he would be harmed by them. Neither ploy succeeded; his hand tracked her unerringly, the glow growing ever brighter.

_I'm gonna die. Sorry, Dad, I -_

Abruptly, Zion jerked backward, then vanished as something punched a hole through the wall right where his head had been.

"Coming through!" It was Mike's voice; Taylor looked around. He had appeared from a portal at the far end of the room, covered in blood and waving a gun that looked like it could make a serious hole in the side of a battleship. "Taylor, we have to go!"

"What? But I -"

She didn't have any more of a chance to protest; he grabbed her arm and dragged her along with him. "Doorway to Redrock!"

* * *

**Mike**

* * *

We stood atop the huge sandstone monolith, its undulating surface extending out to a drop-off in all directions. Heat haze rose around us. I scanned the sky, looking for telltale signs of Scion. "Can you locate him?"

"No, I – yes!" Taylor swung and pointed.

I stopped and dropped the reticule on the distant golden glint. Restraining the impulse to fire off the whole magazine – after this, I would have six rounds left – I squeezed the trigger once. The missile shot away; Zion whipped sideways, then opened a portal to disappear through.

"Doorway to Beachfront," I muttered. We stepped through the portal, but only got ten yards along the sand before Taylor called a warning; I shielded her body with mine as sand fountained nearby. Zion had found us again. Capes appeared overhead and began attacking as I called up yet another portal.

* * *

From one part of the world to another we jumped, occasionally stepping to a whole new Earth for variety. Sometimes we were just ahead of Zion; at other times we held a substantial lead. But it seemed that he most definitely _could_ track us now, whereas before he had not been able to.

_Butcher's powers. It's gotta be. Zion can track __**those. **_But it wasn't as though I could do anything about it, right then.

When she could, Taylor relayed where we were and Noelle dispatched capes to aid us. They attacked him in battle plans coordinated by Taylor even as we stepped through portal after portal. The attacks slowed him down, there was no doubt about it. What _I _wanted was for him to get close enough for me to nail him with a micro-missile. But he was being very cagey about them, after the first encounter. And time was ticking down for me.

It almost ran out altogether when we emerged through a portal and he was right there in front of us, having anticipated which way I would go. _I've been too predictable, dammit._ His hand was already up; I would never bring the gun to bear in time. And he was too close for a Doorway to work; the one behind us had already winked out. So I grabbed Taylor by the waist, pulled her close, and teleported.

We landed fifty yards away in a burst of flame, and I called up another portal before Zion could get to us. "How did you do that?" she gasped as we jumped through.

"Long story," I replied flatly. Two more portals took us back to another beachfront, but Zion was closing on us once more. He was right on our heels as I called up the next portal. "Doorway to Eden!"

We landed on unstable footing; Taylor staggered and looked down at what she was standing on. "What _is_ this?"

"Zion's other half," I said, raising my bracer to my face. "Tactical. Timer. Now."

"_Timer running." _We had ten seconds.

"Zion!" gasped Taylor, pointing; the golden man was already hovering above us. But he wasn't looking at us. He was looking down at the form beneath him, partly extruded from the flesh-garden that was Eden.

"Good. Doorway to Greenfields." With rather more haste than usual, I hauled her through. The portal closed behind us, leaving us standing on a wide grassy pasture. I wasn't even sure where it was, or on which Earth; I'd just been given the waypoints to memorise. _Hopefully, that'll hold him for just long enough._ "Doorway to Sanctuary."

* * *

**Bakuda's Workshop  
Friday, May 27, 2011**

* * *

"Okay, so how big's this bomb you want again?" Bakuda leaned back against her workbench with her arms crossed, the goggles she was wearing giving her a slightly fish-eyed look.

Mike smiled, ever so slightly. "Let's say, hypothetically, we don't actually need the planet any more."

Her eyes widened. "You're _shitting_ me."

"I shit you not."

"And what, exactly, are you going to do with this bomb?"

He chuckled. "Since when are you worried about _that?"_

She shrugged. "Not worried. Just want to make sure that you don't set it off on the same planet that _I'm_ standing on."

"Nope, that's a given. We're gonna piss Scion off by blowing up his girlfriend. Twice."

She blinked a couple of times. "You realise, that statement doesn't make any sense at all."

"That mean you can't make the bomb?"

This time, her eyes narrowed. "Fuckin' _watch_ me."

Mike grinned.

* * *

**Present Day  
Zion**

* * *

The Warrior was temporarily distracted from the chase by the sight of the Other, the Thinker. The body that the other entity would have presented to the world was there, interrupted in the most delicate stage of its formation. Downward the Warrior drifted, coming to rest beside the slumped form.

Reaching out, it ran a hand over the long hair, the delicately-shaped arm. It had not returned to this site in all the tens of cycles since it had discovered that the Thinker was no longer functional.

But this was not precisely the case. There was life in there, faint but viable. The Warrior had powers under its control that could possibly …

The detonation was _enormous._

* * *

**Mike**

* * *

"Dad!"

Taylor!"

I watched the reunion of father and daughter as I tried to catch my breath. Having just one working lung was not good for exertion. _How long has it been?_ Not less than five minutes, I gauged. Which meant I had five minutes, or less, until the endgame.

"Mike, good God, what have you been _doing?"_ Gladys reached out a tentative hand, as if unsure where to touch my skin. In all fairness to her, I _had_ been torn up by Vex's razor-sharp fields, then Butcher's gun had almost killed me. But I was still functional, for the most part. I only needed a few more minutes.

"Pissing Zion off," I told her in a matter-of-fact tone. "Paige, I need the decoy."

"Right here," Paige said. She and Sveta came out of the building, carrying the decoy between them. It was a life-sized model of Taylor, in full Weaver costume. I picked it up, grunting at the effort. Everything was an effort, now. I had no doubt that Riley's combat endorphins were running out.

"I have to go," I stated. "I won't see you again. Have a good life. Be safe."

"Mike …" It was Gladys, her hand on my arm. From behind the glass wall that held Butcher trapped, my feelings for her watched, but could say nothing.

I could not use emotion here. Truth would have to do.

"Gladys, you're special. You've always been special. I'll always remember you. But I really have to go now."

Turning away, I called up another portal and stepped through, carrying the faux Taylor.

* * *

**Zion**

* * *

Dazed by the explosion, the Warrior realised that it had been blown into interplanetary space by the sheer concussion. Much of its energy reserves had been depleted in surviving the attack. Looking back, it saw damage on an apocalyptic scale; such was the force of the explosion that the very planet had been cracked in half. But it cared not at all about that. What it cared about was that every last fragment of the Thinker must surely have been destroyed in the blast. This, coming on top of the realisation that the Thinker _could _have been restored, caused an upwelling of anger and frustration unmatched by any that had gone before.

The anomaly _had_ to die. Along with the immature female. This was what the Warrior was now fixated upon. Its combat sense stated firmly that she was the greatest danger to it, now. Which suited the Warrior just fine; she was going to die, and very soon now. It reached out, detecting the string of stolen shards trailing the anomaly, along with the emanations from the immature female's shard. He was on the move again, and her with him.

This would not save them.

* * *

**Mike**

* * *

I heard the scream of rage as it echoed through the upper atmosphere. Chancing a look around, I could see Zion, but only as the very head of a long golden streak lancing down from above.

"I believe that Zion is angry," I reported over the bracer, and called for a portal. It appeared, and I stepped through it. However, he stepped with me; each time I appeared in a new world, he was right there on my trail. No matter where I ran, no matter how I dodged, he wasn't letting me go this time. He wasn't playing games any more.

Or so he thought. _I_ was playing a game. It was called 'keep-away'. So far, I was winning.

It appeared that he still couldn't _anticipate_ me; when I deliberately went against the logical suggestions thrown up by my combat mods, his shots went wide, or he overshot into a different world. But he was tenacious as hell, never flagging, never falling back far enough to lose me.

I ducked through portal after portal, until he got too close to allow them to form; this was actually to my advantage, because being that close allowed me to use some of Butcher's _other_ powers. Festering wounds, which he ignored. Rage, which worked well enough on him; normally, he might have ignored it as well, but it exacerbated the monumental fury that now consumed him. The ability to hit any target I shot at, which kept him from getting _too _close. And, of course, teleportation. Time and again, I slipped out of his grasp. I could _feel_ his frustration growing. _That's one pissed-off hyperdimensional space whale._

Gone was the slightly detached expression he had worn previously. He now showed a visage distorted by pure rage and loss. Each time he got close, I enhanced his rage even further, avoiding his blasts by narrower and narrower margins. Three times, he fired a wide-angle blast that nearly caught me; I got out of the way twice by way of a Doorway and once by using Butcher's teleportation. But I couldn't keep it up; even if I wasn't running on empty, he only had to get lucky once.

* * *

**Zion**

* * *

The Warrior's entire being was focused on one task. _Destroy the anomaly._ This foe had avoided destruction over and over again, all the while preserving the entity's other enemy from the Warrior's wrath. The immature female was obviously unable to run, but she was still capable of using her power to call down the shard-enhanced creatures upon the Warrior. It would take just one attack to destroy her, but before the entity could do that, it had to eliminate the anomalous being that was protecting her.

Finally, it saw its chance, as the anomaly stumbled. He was already halfway through the portal, but the Warrior's attack caught him on the legs and lower back. Golden energy began to eat into his flesh as he fell to the ground on the far side of the portal. The portal closed, of course, as the entity neared, but the Warrior could step between worlds just as easily. However, before it could, another portal opened, revealing …

The Warrior stopped moving. There, before it, stood a figure with long hair, alabaster skin and an oh-so-familiar face. However, this face was neither a static simulacrum, as the shard-enhanced creatures had been producing, nor dead and unresponsive. It was the Other, fully realised. The Thinker, returned to functionality.

The Other took a step forward, reached out a slim hand. In return, the Warrior also reached out a hand. Unfamiliar emotions arose within the entity; hope and joy, that the Thinker had somehow transcended destruction and had returned to stand at its side. Together, they would make these planet-bound creatures _pay_ for the degradation and anguish.

Their hands touched.

The detonation was not as powerful as the first one, but it took the Warrior utterly by surprise. When it managed to cease its tumble through the air, it saw that where the Thinker had stood, there was now quite a sizeable crater.

_Again._ They had done it to the entity _again._ Twice now, it had grasped completion, only to have it torn away in the most insulting way possible. Fury and rage returned in full force, amplified by the sorrow and loss that had been reawakened.

The anomaly would _die._

* * *

**Mike**

* * *

I lay on the rocky ground, gritting my teeth so I wouldn't scream. Riley's combat endorphins were good, but they had just about reached their limit with me. My legs weren't much good for anything any more. Even if I had the strength to get up, I wouldn't be running anywhere. I raised my bracer to my face. "Plan … Omega," I gasped.

"_Mike, we can still pull you out." _That was Noelle. _"Just say the word."_

"No." It was getting really hard to breathe. "This. Way's. Better."

"_But -"_

"Do. It."

A sigh. _"It's been an honour."_

"Me. Too."

The world was darkening around the edges. I panted for breath. My fingertips were growing numb, which was vastly preferable to what was happening to the remains of my legs. I didn't even notice when the gun disappeared from my unresponsive hand.

And then Zion appeared before me. I'd thought he was angry before. Now, he was literally incandescent with rage. Golden light streamed out from him so vividly that I felt my clothes beginning to smoulder.

In the early stages of the chase, I'd decided on my last words. I'd be defiant, I had decided. _Fuck you,_ I'd say. _You're a figment of my imagination. You don't even exist._ And then, because it seemed funny, I'd give him the finger with both hands before he killed me.

Maybe my words would give him pause. Maybe he would realise just what I was. Or maybe my insult would enrage him even further.

However, I never got the chance. Before I could even draw breath to utter the first syllable, he unleashed a storm of energy upon my prone body, and upon the animatronic decoy.

At least it was quick.

* * *

**Sanctuary**

* * *

"_Plan Omega six is a go."_

Taylor heard Noelle's words, but they didn't mean anything to her. All of the Omega plans were based around the concept of Mike sacrificing himself to draw Zion in. This meant that Mike was dead.

Of course, the _original_ Omega six plan had involved more anti-Zion guns, and someone other than Taylor doing the shooting. But she was the one holding it. It was up to her.

"_I repeat, Omega six."_

Danny nudged her; abruptly, she came back to herself. "Doorway to _behind_ Zion."

The portal opened; ahead of her, she saw the golden man, in a transport of rage, blasting the landscape into oblivion. She raised the heavy gun in both hands, pointing it at his back.

_Mike's dead. You killed him. _Taylor wasn't a fan of the death penalty, but in this case she was willing to make an exception.

She didn't even feel it when the gun fired; all she saw was the pause, the turn and the look of utter astonishment. Reflexively, she fired three more times before the bolt locked open. The golden form popped like a soap bubble. All that was left, all she saw before the portal closed, was a hole in space with a vast _something_ beyond_._

* * *

**Tactical**

* * *

"_Front door is open. Repeat, front door is open."_

Noelle nodded sharply. "Green light. Go go go."

"_Green light, roger," _replied Dragon. _"Let's go, girls."_

Three portals opened into that world; each one admitted a subtly different Dragon-style suit to the location. Each held an oversized launcher. They hovered before the hole.

"_Dragon, launching."_

"_Pandora, launching."_

"_Theresa, launching."_

One by one, each of the projectiles arched through the hole in space, into the pocket universe beyond.

"_Dragon here. Packages delivered."_

"I copy packages delivered," Noelle replied as calmly as she could. "Everyone out of the universe. It's going to get very unfriendly in there."

"_Roger that."_

* * *

**Bakuda's Workshop  
Friday, May 27, 2011**

* * *

"Okay, this is me talking, so you know I'm not kidding when I say what the _fuck?"_

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Wow, are you sure you're the real Bakuda?"

"Fuck you," she stormed. "There's big stuff, and then there's what you just asked me to build."

He held his hands out, palm up. "So … what, you can't make it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I can fucking _make_ it. But what the fuck do you want with a flesh-dissolving bomb _that_ big? Are you looking to depopulate fucking _China?"_

"No, you misunderstand." He was grinning broadly now. "I don't want _a_ bomb that'll do that."

"Then what _do_ you want me to make?" If that vein in her temple throbbed any harder …

"_Three _bombs that size."

The look on her face was absolutely _classic._

* * *

**Present Day  
Zion**

* * *

The Warrior stirred, rebuilding its body. It would destroy the creatures once and for all. _Nothing_ treated it like that and yet lived. Once its new body was complete, it would -

As its eyes finished forming, it saw the first bomb. The last thought that went through its head was analogous to _Oh, no, not again._

One bomb, it might possibly have survived. With two bombs, the odds would have been against it. The third ensured that it didn't stand a chance.

* * *

**Tactical**

* * *

"_Dragon here. Sending through a throwaway probe. Getting signals back now."_

Noelle clenched her hands so tightly that the nails bit into her palms. "Yes?"

There was a long pause. Lisa was pretty sure that nobody in the room was breathing. She watched dust motes falling through the holodisplay, flaring with tiny bursts of laser light.

"_We have positive confirmation. Zion is dead. Repeat, Zion is dead."_

The room erupted in cheers and whistles, but Lisa didn't feel like joining in.

Maybe later she'd celebrate, but not right now.

* * *

End of Part Fifty-One


	52. Chapter 52

**Security!**

* * *

Epilogue One: Earth Bet

* * *

**Part Zero: In the Days Before …**

* * *

**Saturday, June 4, 2011  
Medical**

* * *

"You want what now?"

Amy suppressed a sigh. The foreman of the work crew meant well, but he had a bit to learn about the quirky requests of parahumans. Especially, but not exclusively, Tinkers. Around them, in the cavern intended to become Medical, work went on.

"I want a refrigerator. As big as you can manage. Right there." It was an unoccupied corner of the cavern, with easy access to the power supply.

"Yeah, but I gotta okay this with the higher-ups. What's this big-ass fridge _for?"_

"It's going to be stocked with meat. Beef, pork, mutton, whatever else we can manage."

The look on his face showed that he still didn't understand. That wasn't totally surprising; she had taken a moment or two to grasp the concept when Mike had suggested it to her. Afterward, she had been amazed that it had not occurred to her earlier. "It's biomass. If someone's missing body parts, I can use that to build new bits."

He blinked. "Don't you need, you know, _human_ body parts to do that?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Now, can I get my fridge installed, please?"

* * *

**Part One: In the Hours That Followed …**

* * *

**Sunday, June 12, 2011  
Medical**

* * *

Amy held out her hand. "Steak."

The orderly picked up the slab of steak from the tray and placed it on her hand. "This is so weird."

She hid a smile. "You don't work with capes much, do you?" Carefully, she placed the steak over the gaping wound.

Lung, as she understood things, needed time to prepare for a battle. He had been unprepared when Zion first attacked, but had quickly ramped up to a level that allowed him to participate. Unfortunately, this had not prepared him for Zion's counterattacks; his body had not been able to throw off the damage as fast the golden being could inflict it. Still, he'd managed to survive and had stubbornly thrown himself back into the fray time and again. The result of which lay on the bed before her.

"I'm surprised he's still alive." That was Othala, on the other side of the bed. "His wounds …"

Lung had been beaten, burned, slashed and partially disintegrated. One arm was gone, along with part of his ribcage, the side of his face, both eyes and half of his left leg. His breathing was laboured, but he still wasn't giving up. What was most astonishing was that he was showing signs of returning consciousness.

Placing her hand on Lung's body, she caused the exposed flesh to begin absorbing the biomass into itself. This allowed her to fix the major damage, repairing organs and rebuilding bones. Three more steaks, each an inch thick and a foot across, went into that effort before she was satisfied he wasn't going to die on the table. Lung was awake by now, but she had his pain receptors under control, so all he felt was a dull ache.

"Okay," she told him. "I'm going to regrow your eyes now."

Breath rasped in his chest as he tried to speak. She repaired some minor damage in his throat.

"One eye. Both legs," he told her. "I will regrow the rest."

"Your choice." She held out her hand. "T-bone." Regrowing his leg would require more bone mass.

Reaching into the lower tray, the orderly gave her the steak in question. "I guess this will be pretty unique."

"How so?" She concentrated on adding the steak's biomass to Lung's.

"Once we're done here, we'll be barbecuing the leftover bandages."

It was the first time she had smiled since learning of Mike's death.

* * *

**Sanctuary**

* * *

The small community was quiet where normally there would have been a bustle of activity. This was not entirely unexpected; much had happened in a short time. The war had started and finished before most of them had even fully realised what was going on. Zion had died. So had Mike Allen.

Most of the inhabitants of Sanctuary only knew Mike as a name. Some had spoken to him during his infrequent visits since the founding of the settlement. But there were some who knew him rather better than that.

Sveta had not cried so hard in months. In the time before she began exchanging messages with Mike's online alter ego, she'd cried often. After he made contact with her, she had begun to depend on him for the escapism that she so desperately needed to cope with the asylum.

After being taken to Sanctuary, she began to open up, to make friends, but her natural reserve held her back from going too far in that direction. Paige and Joe, at least, made the effort; of the others, most found it hard to trust, which she totally understood.

Now, one of the few people she had learned to trust unconditionally, who she _knew_ had her back, was gone. After spending all that time building up her sense of self-worth, he'd put her on a shelf like a toy he didn't want broken, and then gone out and gotten himself killed. _He wouldn't even let me help. I was useless. I was nothing._

She wanted desperately to talk to Mrs Yamada, to _anyone._ But Mrs Yamada wasn't here, and she doubted that many of the others in the settlement would understand how she was feeling. Leaving the tiny hut that she called home, she went to see Paige and Joe. _They'll understand._

But they weren't there. Her feelings of inadequacy, of abandonment, fed on themselves and grew larger. She found her footsteps turning toward the bluff, toward the boat that lay on the stony beach. Her skills with sailing and fishing had come back with practice; by now, she could ready the boat for sea on her own.

Normally, she enjoyed getting out on the water for its own sake; fishing was just an enjoyable optional extra. But now, the ocean beckoned. The far horizon pulled at her.

_What if I just got in the boat and sailed away? Never came back?_

Almost mechanically, she set about making the boat ready.

* * *

"He's dead." Paige sat on the clifftop path, looking out over the ocean. The sun sparkled on the waves, but it didn't help.

"But it worked." Joe put his arm around her shoulders; she leaned into him, taking comfort from his closeness, his strength.

"Yeah, but I wish he didn't have to _die_ to make it work."

"Not arguing here." He stroked her hair and feathers, making them lie flat on her head. "Just saying that he knew ahead of time. If you know you're gonna go anyway, plan to take the other guy down with you."

She sighed sadly. "I don't even know _how_ to think that way."

"And that's one of the things I love about you." His lips pressed against her forehead. "You're _gentle._ With your power, you coulda been a really scary supervillain. But you don't think that way, an' you never will."

"I still screwed up." She pressed her cheek against his chest. "I still nearly went to the Birdcage."

"If you hadn't, we wouldn't have met." He gently raised her chin so that he could kiss her.

"Mmm." When she spoke next, her voice was quiet. "You were the third person who was nice to me, you know? After I was arrested, I mean. Everyone saw me as a dangerous villain. Even my attorney barely made an effort. And then _he_ just stepped in and took me out of that."

Joe didn't have to ask who 'he' was. "So who was the second?"

"That was actually Mike. The first one was Dragon. She flew me back to Brockton Bay. She was really friendly. Chatty, even. Like she _wanted_ to be friends with me."

"Huh. Met her once or twice. She seemed okay." He snorted. "I seem to recall that as soon as you got brought back to Brockton Bay, you got put straight to work for the PRT. Not _dangerous_ work, but pretty close to it, from time to time."

"And the Birdcage would have been preferable?" Her tone was light.

"Hah. Well, no." He sighed. "You know, when I first got put on the detail to guard you, I didn't know what to think. Figured I'd pissed off someone higher up. Punishment duty, you know?"

"It showed," she admitted. "At first, you talked to me like you hated me."

"I never _hated_ you," he said. "But … I didn't _know_ you. Didn't know what to think of you. I'd heard what you'd done, and I didn't know how anyone could do something like that."

"Well, it wasn't on _purpose," _she objected.

"Yeah, I know that _now,"_ he assured her. "Not sure exactly when I started falling for you, but when you started sunbathing on the roof, it sure as hell didn't hurt."

"Why, Joe McKenzie," she exclaimed playfully, raising herself up so that she could look him in the eye. "You were _ogling_ me while I was sunbathing?"

"Hell, yes," he replied promptly.

She smiled and curled up against him again. "Good," she murmured.

They sat like that for a little longer. Her hand crept into his, and their fingers laced together tightly. She closed her eyes, listening to the seagulls screeching at one another, to the whisper of wind through the short grass. It was so peaceful here, in Sanctuary. The work was hard, but they were making a home for themselves. Her life as a singer was so far away that it didn't even register on her radar any more.

"I think we should do something." His voice, rumbling beside her ear, startled her slightly.

"About what?" she asked, without opening her eyes.

"For Mike. A memorial or something. Something to remember him by."

She sat up then, opening her eyes. "I think you're right."

"He helped you more than he helped me. Any ideas?"

Paige shook her head. "I'm not the one to ask."

* * *

They descended the steps that had been cut into the bluff to find Sveta in the process of getting the boat ready for sailing. She had blossomed in the weeks since arriving at Sanctuary; her movements with the mobility armature were quick and sure, and she was no longer as shy and withdrawn as she had once been.

Still, her face was drawn and pale, even for her, and her movements were just a little jerky. By now she had gone a long way toward regaining her old skill at sailing and fishing, to the point that she was teaching other members of the settlement, but Paige could see her fumbling as she worked to step the mast in the boat.

Joe stood back as Paige moved forward to the side of the boat. "Uh, Sveta?"

At first she didn't think the other woman had heard her, but then Sveta paused. Slowly, the armature turned toward Paige; the pale face was pinched, with tracks of tears down her cheeks. "What?"

An old adage came back to Paige. _Friends don't let friends drive angry._ She wasn't quite sure that this was the same, but it was close enough to make her concerned. "Uh, where are you going?"

"Out." Sveta began to pull a rope tight with sharp movements.

"When will you be coming back?" _**Will**__ you be coming back?_

"Dunno."

Paige affected a casual tone. "Well, don't be too long. Joe and I want to do something in Mike's memory, and we wanted to see if you had any ideas for it. You spent longer talking to him than I ever did, after all."

"Only over a computer. And he didn't tell me that he knew about _me_ right up until I came here." But her movements had slowed.

"But he _cared._ You _know _he did. I mean, look at me. You could say he rescued me just so I could do crowd control and other stuff like that. But you, he actually _wanted _to help. He decided you were _worth_ helping. No strings attached."

Sveta wasn't even pretending to pull on the rope any more. Her head hung down. "And when he needed help most of all, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't fight Zion. I had to stand back and watch him go." Her voice broke. "He was so badly hurt, and he still went _out_ there again."

"Hey." It was Joe's gruff voice. "Thing you gotta realise is, the man knew what he was doing. He _chose_ it. The moment Zion went after him, that big golden bastard was _screwed."_

Paige tried again. "He had to do it, to save us." Sveta didn't move; Paige kept talking, the words spilling out of her mouth. "Anyway, we _were_ helping him. Weaver was telling the capes what to do. We were keeping her safe, just by existing. We made it _possible_ for him to win."

Sveta looked up at that. "Is that true, or are you just saying it?"

"It's what Gladys told us," Joe affirmed. "Apparently Cauldron capes fuzzed Zion's senses. A lot of you guys all together made it hard for him to spot the needle in the haystack. Go figure."

"And we were keeping Gladys and Danny safe as well," Paige added. "So we weren't doing _nothing."_

"Yeah." With a sigh, Sveta climbed out of the boat. "So what ideas you got so far?"

Joe indicated the boat. "Not going out any more?"

Sveta shook her head. "Nah. Don't feel like it."

"Good." Paige linked her arm through Sveta's. "Come on up. Nobody should be alone at a time like this."

Sveta didn't say anything, but the metal fingers of her armature laced through Paige's as they walked toward the bluff.

* * *

**Brockton Bay  
PRT Headquarters**

* * *

Emily Piggot leaned forward in her chair. "So it's over?"

"It's over." Armsmaster's voice was firm.

Beside him, the tall, statuesque woman nodded. She had long black hair and familiar features; if Piggot had not recognised her as Dragon, she would have taken the woman as being entirely human.

"It's done," declared the animatronic avatar. "I analysed the data from the probe most extensively before I self-destructed it. That pocket universe was where Zion kept his body, and Bakuda's bombs killed everything in there that could be killed."

"I'm just glad you were able to keep backups that could boot up at a moment's notice."

Armsmaster nodded. "So am I." Emily was fairly sure that his reasons were different to hers.

"It took time," Dragon noted. "Time that Weaver and Mike were able to buy us. And to be honest, Weaver did a magnificent job of command and control under the circumstances."

"Are we surprised?" Emily's voice was dry. "We all know who picked her for the job."

"Well, yes," agreed Dragon. "And talking about that. Mike and I had several long conversations over the last few weeks. He didn't see this coming, not exactly, but he apparently decided to get the information down before anything _else_ happened, to use his phrasing."

"Information?" asked Emily. "What information?"

"Well, some of it consists of messages to people. Some of it is his will, such as it is. But the most part consists of the details of what _would_ have happened had he not interfered. Of particular interest is a great deal of information of which I was unaware. The bulk of it is useless to us, such as the origin of Zion's species, or details about what might have happened to us. But some of it … some of it may prove to be very useful indeed."

Emily's attention was totally riveted by now. "Are you going to tell me what this useful information is?"

"If I think you need to know," Dragon said.

"If I ordered you …" The Director didn't finish the statement. It wasn't quite a threat.

Dragon smiled beatifically. "It wouldn't work. The _President_ could order me to reveal that information out of turn, and I could still say no."

"What?" Emily looked at Armsmaster. "If this is something you've done to make her ignore established authority …"

"No, it's not." The Tinker managed to look affronted. "We haven't managed that yet."

_Yet,_ she thought. _So it's only a matter of time. _"Then how …"

"Because Michael Allen told me to follow my own judgement on what I was to tell people," Dragon told her, "and who I revealed it to. And I consider _him_ to be the highest authority when it comes to these matters."

Director Piggot glared at her for a long moment. "I'd like to be able to tell you that you're wrong," she gritted. "But I can't."

Dragon smiled at her. _"Thank _you."

"But you mentioned a will …?"

The smile left Dragon's face in an instant. "Yes. Did you want to hear it?"

Piggot blinked at the easy acquiescence. "I … yes. If you think I should."

Michael Allen's easy-going drawl filled the office.

"_So yeah, I guess this is my will. I might be updating this from time to time, but yeah … okay, then. First things first. My ute, I mean my pickup, can go to Taylor once she learns how to drive a manual. All the contents of my flat go to Gladys. She can sort out who gets what from that. Gladys, if you give my lappie to anyone, for God's sake wipe the hard drive before you do. Any money I've got left in the bank can go to a worthwhile charity. Gladys can pick that too. Or, you know, buy a pie with it."_

Dragon paused the playback. "We're not sure about the pickup. I think it might have been destroyed."

The Director nodded. "Just one thing … is it just me, or does he use a lot of Britishisms?"

Dragon smiled. "You might say that. May I continue?" At Piggot's nod, the playback picked up again.

"_Okay, next thing. Don't put up a statue to me. I mean it. They never get the face right. Every statue I've ever seen looked like they desperately needed to go to the dunny. And the only thing worse than getting it wrong would be getting it right."_

The Director frowned. "Dunny?"

Armsmaster muttered the word; the helmet mic picked it up and did a word search, putting up the first definition that it found. "Uh, it means bathroom. In Australia, apparently."

"Oh. I see." She nodded to Dragon. "Carry on."

"_Right, this next one is a biggie. Someone's gotta go to England and find a specific homeless guy. His name's Kevin Norton and he's dying of hepatitis. He's the one behind Zion being a hero instead of just moping around the place or deciding that the world would look better tied in a bow knot. He's the one who told Zion to help people, to rescue them from disasters, to fight Endbringers. The man's a friggin' hero and deserves to be treated like one."_

Armsmaster watched the Director take a note; Dragon courteously paused the playback while she did so. "Kevin Norton, hepatitis, homeless," she murmured. "Not much to go on."

"I have a few more details on Mr Norton in the files," Dragon assured her. "I'm reasonably certain we can find the man."

"Good. I'll need them. Is there anything more?"

"Just a few more bits and pieces."

"Play it, please."

"_In case you're wondering why I didn't have this done before, I don't want Zion getting any hints that we're moving on him. The longer he stays in the dark, the better. With luck, we'll be able to stretch it out to six months or more."_

The Director snorted. "Well, it was a good plan while it lasted."

"Enough of it worked that we won," Dragon pointed out. "And I think we're all aware of the saying regarding plans and contact with the enemy." She paused. "This next part's for you, Director."

"_And this is for Director Piggot. When the time comes, there'll probably be people wanting to make Cauldron pay for its multiple crimes against humanity. I don't disagree, but we need to keep in mind that they were doing the best they could with what they had, not knowing what would work and what wouldn't. And in the end, what they were trying to do was save the world. Save everyone, or at least as many people as possible. What they did might make them monsters, but they were doing the wrong things for the right reasons."_

Dragon shut off the playback. "That's basically his last will and testament. The rest is individual messages and what he insisted on calling the Security Details."

The Director shook her head slightly, as if in pain. "He would."

* * *

**Part Two: In the Days that Followed …**

* * *

**Brockton Bay PRT Headquarters  
Monday Morning, June 13, 2011**

* * *

"Congratulations. You're heroes."

PRT Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, impeccably business-suited, stood at the podium. Flanking her were Legend and Director Piggot.

"Excuse me for being sceptical, my dear Ms Costa-Brown," asked Marquis, "but what does that actually _mean,_ in this situation?"

The rest of the capes in the room, villains all, nodded or murmured agreement to one degree or another.

"After all," Marquis went on, "some of us were captured under decidedly … questionable … circumstances. You might even say that some of us were railroaded. And now you have us once more, within your base. Not quite at your mercy …" He allowed himself a small smile. "But certainly not in the best of positions."

Bakuda, nearby, nodded at his words. She stood alongside Lung, who was still missing an arm and an eye; the latter had a leather patch over it. "What he said," she stated baldly. "My bombs blew the fuck out of _Scion._ Without me, you never would have won. Are you going to just throw us back behind bars, now that you've gotten your use out of us?"

Costa-Brown cleared her throat, and the growing murmurs stilled. "There was a time," she conceded, "when that may well have been the case. But I have been … convinced … to allow you a second chance." Her voice hardened. "Do not be mistaken. Your crimes have not been pardoned. But you will not be prosecuted for them, unless you choose to reoffend. Consider yourselves to be on probation for the time being."

"We are _criminals,"_ Lung stated boldly. "We made our living from being criminals. How are we to live, when you tell us we cannot do that any more? It seems to me that you are setting us up to fail."

Costa-Brown shook her head. "When I say that you will be getting a second chance, I mean exactly that. Those of you with frozen bank accounts will be given access to a measure of those funds. The rest will be settled with a substantial cash reward. This will give you breathing room until you can figure out what to do with yourselves." She smiled tightly. "And if all other options fail, the PRT is always willing to hire you on in your parahuman capacity. The pay may not be as good as you might have gotten in your criminal careers, but you can definitely live on it."

Voices rose in the room once more, this time in surprise. Costa-Brown let it go on for a few moments, then tapped the microphone to get their attention. "You'll have time to think it over. If you choose to take up the offer of employment, see Director Piggot to schedule an interview. Otherwise, you will be allowed to go wherever you want on Earth Bet, with money to start fresh."

A hand was raised. "But I'm from Earth Aleph."

"And you're very likely to reoffend once you return." The Chief Director's voice was grave. "I'm sorry, Perdition, but your request is denied." She looked at the group. "I'll let you think it over. In the meantime; Accord."

The short grey-haired man looked up from where he had separated himself from the main body of villains. "Yes?"

"I've been told that you have a proposal that I would be very interested in hearing about. Would you like to discuss it in private?"

If the sliding metal leaves of the mask he wore were any indication, Accord's eyes widened just a little. "Yes. Of course."

He stepped forward; they left the room side by side.

Kaiser frowned. "I wonder what _that_ was about."

Lung shrugged. "Perhaps he is going to be signing up to work for the PRT?"

"I would hardly think so," Marquis decided. "From all accounts, he's even richer than you, Kaiser. No, there's something else going on."

"Who cares about that?" Crusader looked at Lung. "What _I_ wanna know is, why are you still all banged up? The medics decide that you're not worth helping?"

Lung chuckled. "Heh. No. I chose this."

At Crusader's look of confusion, Marquis sighed. "He will regenerate, and in the meantime, the women love a war hero."

"Hah!" Crusader slapped the ABB leader on his good shoulder. "For a slant, that's pretty savvy."

Lung stared him down. "Say or do that again, and no-one will ever find your remains."

"Right, sorry, sorry." Crusader backed off. "So, uh, Marquis. What are you gonna be doing? Ten years in the Birdcage, you gotta have some serious catching up to do, yeah?"

Marquis smiled. "You might say that."

* * *

**Brockton Bay  
Monday Afternoon, June 13, 2011**

* * *

"So he said, we'll be barbecuing the leftover bandages."

Taylor chuckled. "That _is_ kinda funny."

Amy leaned her elbows on the rail of the Boardwalk and looked out to sea. An onshore breeze ruffled her hair. "Yeah, but I kind of felt horrible for thinking it was funny. I mean, _Mike_ …" Her voice choked up.

An arm went around her shoulders, and Taylor squeezed her gently. "I know. You know he's gone, and there's a huge aching hole right there in the middle of you, where you've built up stuff around him. And then you forget for half a second, and then you remember again, and it hurts all over again."

"Yeah." Amy sniffled. "It feels like I'm crumbling from the inside out."

"Well, we can't have that." Taylor led her to a seat and offered her a handkerchief. "Here, blow your nose."

Obediently, Amy did so. "How do you deal with it?"

Taylor shook her head. "I don't. I feel it just as badly as you do. But you know and I know that Mike wouldn't want us to be all sad and mopey. You remember what he told us?"

"That he'd be going back to where he came from?"

"Yeah, that. I'm choosing to believe that right now, he's back in his own world, looking down at ours. Watching to see what we do now that he's gone."

"Watching over us, you mean?"

"Yeah." Taylor tilted her head. "Yeah, that sounds about right. It's what he'd do."

"It does. He did enough of it while he was here."

They sat in silence for a while, watching the ocean. The sun glinted off of the waves, while seabirds wheeled overhead. Most of Brockton Bay hadn't been affected by the war, so life went on as normal. It was … peaceful.

"So we're, you know, homeless now," Taylor commented at last. "House is gone. Car's gone."

"You've still got money in the bank," Amy said idly. "That's not gone."

"True," admitted Taylor. "But still, you sure that you want to be adopted?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Well, _duh._ You can't get rid of me that easily. I mean, seriously, if you needed money, you could make all you want just by hiring out as a pest exterminator."

"Like you could by hiring out your healing services?" Taylor's voice was gently teasing.

Amy stuck out her tongue at Taylor. But there was a thoughtful look on her face that hadn't been there before.

* * *

**Director Piggot's Office**

* * *

"Come in, Flechette. Sit down."

From the dragging of her feet, it was obvious that the girl didn't want to be there. But the habit of following orders was too strong, and so she sat.

Emily eyed her. "Do you know why you're here?"

A barely perceptible nod. The girl didn't look up.

"Flechette. Sit up. Look at me. Answer the question." She didn't shout the orders, but there was still the snap of command behind them. Reluctantly, Flechette straightened her posture and raised her head. Within her eyes, what Emily could see of them, was real, physical pain.

"I'm here because I screwed up." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

_Well, at least she's aware of what she's done._ "Yes, you did. The question is, why."

Flechette grimaced. "Because I – he – she – I wanted -"

"Deep breaths." Emily reminded herself that the cape before her was a teenager, and teenagers screw up. It was what they _did._ In fact, that had been a major part of the personal message from Mike Allen to her. He hadn't known what Flechette was going to do, or at least she didn't _think _he had, but still, he'd left that message to her. "Start again."

Silence fell over the office, while Flechette did as she was told. Several moments passed before the teenager spoke again. "He introduced me to, to Parian. Told us that we'd been a couple in – in the other world. She contacted me. We dated. It was nice. Really nice. I wanted to spend more time with her."

Emily blinked. _Parian?_ That was one bit of information that Dragon had not revealed to her. Still, it clarified matters … a lot. "So you spent time with her instead of working with L33t, as he'd _also_ asked you to do." It wasn't really a question.

Looking wretched, Flechette nodded. "He – he said we had _months._ I thought there was plenty of time. I did work with L33t a _bit,_ but the guy just rubbed me the wrong way." Her head dropped again. "But I shouldn't have done it. I screwed up."

"Well, at least we agree on _that_ part." Emily laced her fingers together on the desk before her. "The question is, what do I do with you now?"

"I'll resign from the Wards," Flechette mumbled. "Just leave. I got him killed. Nearly got _everyone_ killed. I don't deserve -"

"Stop. Look at me."

Flechette stopped talking and raised her head. "Director?"

"We all screw up." Emily's voice was flat. "I should have checked with you and L33t to make sure that the weapon design was going well. I didn't. I assumed that because I'd heard nothing in the negative, there was nothing wrong. L33t should have contacted me. He didn't. So there were screwups all round, and as the ranking officer on site, it falls on me to take the blame."

"But I got him _killed!"_ Flechette's voice was a wail.

"No. You didn't. _Butcher_ got him killed. _Zion_ got him killed. _He_ went into that situation knowing he would be killed. _You_ just failed to ensure that the _rest_ of us were adequately armed to take Zion on, had Mike's plan failed."

From the look on Flechette's face, Emily's words weren't making her feel any better. Not that they were intended to do so; their intent was to apprise the girl of the reality of the situation. "So … what are you going to do with me?" The girl's face was now pale but resolute. "I'll do anything to make it right."

_God, if only Shadow Stalker had had that attitude at any time, __**ever.**_ "There is a tremendous amount of work to be done, clearing the rubble around the crater that Zion made. You will assist whenever your Wards duties permit, until it's done."

To her credit, Flechette did not object. "Okay." She paused. "May I ask a question?"

"You may."

"What about … what about Parian?"

Emily's lips thinned. "She's not a Ward. Did she know that you were supposed to be meeting with L33t?"

Hastily, Flechette shook her head. "I didn't talk about that sort of thing with her."

"Well, at least you showed _that_ level of good judgement." _Though Parian may have actually told her to do what she was supposed to be doing, instead of going on dates together. We'll never know._ "If she wants to help make amends, I have no objection to her assisting you in the clearing of rubble. I understand that her stuffed animals can be quite strong."

Flechette's face cleared dramatically. "I can ask her. I'm sure she'll say yes."

Emily cleared her throat. "When you're working there, you're _working_. No sneaking off together. No inappropriate displays of affection. This is your chance to prove that you can be responsible for your own actions. Is that perfectly understood?"

"Yes. Ma'am. Yes, I got it. I won't let you down."

"See that you don't. Dismissed."

Emily watched her leave. _It probably wouldn't hurt to schedule some therapy time for her as well …_

* * *

**Gladys Knott's Residence**

* * *

The incessant rapping on the door finally caused Gladys to stir. She was lying on her bed, still dressed in what she had worn to Taylor's birthday party, a little mussed from the tumble she had taken through that first portal. However, she had been so shell-shocked by Mike's apparent 'death' that after she had been conveyed back to her house, she had collapsed unmoving on to the bed without even turning on the lights.

Night had turned back to day, then day to night, and still she lay there, staring dry-eyed at the wall. She may have slept, but it didn't feel like it. Her unquiet rest was disturbed by someone knocking on the door. So far she was successfully ignoring it, just as she had ignored the ringing of the phone earlier.

_Probably someone from the school._ Her overstressed mind slowly turned the thought over. _Wants to know why I haven't turned up to teach class today. Didn't think they'd send someone around to the house._

The knocking finally stopped. _Good. They can leave me alone now._ But then she heard the oddest noises, suggesting that someone was opening the back door. _I thought I hid the key really well. Now I'm going to have to get up and tell them to leave._

"Hello, wakey wakey. Up we get!" A blonde-haired tornado burst into her room; Gladys vaguely registered freckles and green eyes before she was unaccountably on her feet and being led into the bathroom. Before she could protest, the shower was turned on and she was shoved under the spray.

It was _freezing._

With a squawk of protest, she tried to get out, only to be shoved back under the spray by the same blonde-haired demon. "Come on, you've got to wake up. Get moving again. We've got places to go, and we can't do that while you're still doing a zombie impression."

Gladys really was much more awake now; as she gathered her scattered wits, she turned the spray from 'arctic' to 'warm' and began to undress. Once her sodden clothing had been removed, she finished the shower with something approaching dignity.

The girl didn't move from the bathroom; when Gladys stepped from the shower, she was handed a towel. "So, you awake now?" asked the girl.

"I think so," Gladys answered, towelling herself off. "Who _are_ you? You're not from Winslow."

"Not on your life," agreed the teenager. "My name's Lisa, and I think we have something in common."

"Really?" Gladys figured that she had a right to be sceptical. "And what might that be?"

Lisa grinned smugly "We know what his _real_ story is."

Gladys stared, her jaw slowly dropping.

* * *

**Mike's Apartment**

* * *

The lock clicked and the front door eased open. Lisa stepped through, then turned on the living room light. "Come on in. Nobody home."

"I still can't believe you found the key so easily," Gladys said, following her in. "Six inches down in a rock garden at a random spot around the edge."

"Oh, there were clues," Lisa told her. "But what burns my butt is this." She held out a small square of paper, folded over a couple of times.

Gladys took it and opened it. _HI, LISA,_ it read, with a smiley face sticking its tongue out.

"Hm," she chuckled, amused. "I guess he really knew you."

"I hate it when someone's one step ahead of me," Lisa groused. "And he was always there, from the time I first met him."

"Well, given who he was and what he knew, are you surprised?" Gladys paused. "And I know it's just a little late to be asking this, but _why_ are we breaking into his apartment?"

"Well, you and I both know the real truth about Mike," Lisa pointed out. "I guessed it from context, and I'm pretty sure that he told you. There's a chance he might have left a clue about it somewhere around here, and I want to find that clue and destroy it before anyone else finds out. Because this is _not_ the kind of knowledge that we want out there in the public domain."

"All right. So what do I do?" Gladys shrugged. "I'm a little new to the 'destroying important evidence' profession."

But Lisa had already spotted the laptop on the small table. "I'll have a look through that. You look for physical clues. Anything he might have written down."

"Okay, I can do that." Gladys started poking around the living room. When she came to the shelf with the action figures, she started chuckling.

"They're not all that funny," Lisa murmured absently, typing rapidly on the computer. Gladys personally disagreed, but she didn't want to get into an argument with the quirky teen. Lisa, Gladys suspected, could demolish any argument that she could put forth. Still, it was nice to have something to smile at, and the thought of Mike carefully arranging the action figures in such an amusing pose lightened her heart and brought back warm memories.

_But this isn't finding any evidence that he might have left behind._

She moved from the living room to the kitchen, checking everywhere a man might have left something that he wanted to keep secret, including the holy of holies, the top of the fridge. All she found there was enough dust to have formed its own geological strata, so she moved on to the bedroom.

Mike was not a bed-maker, but she already knew that. There was nothing under the mattress, nor in the unlocked lock-box that sat on a shelf in his closet. She was going through the drawers in his dresser when Lisa's called out her name.

"What's the matter?" she asked, leaning out of the bedroom doorway.

"I need your help with the damn password, is what's the matter," Lisa snapped. "He's not using any of the normal ones, and the hint goes 'Who was the hero?'." I'm guessing this refers to something that you and he know about. A movie?"

Gladys felt a smile spread across her face. It could only refer to one thing. "It was when the ABB trashed his pickup," she explained. "I came over to cheer him up. I cooked him a meal. There was wine. He didn't have any, but -"

"Okay, okay, I got it. You watched a movie with him, got a little drunk, felt romantic, and things went from there." Lisa held up her hands in surrender. "I do _not_ need to know the details. Except for one. What were you watching?"

Her smile was nostalgic and a just little sad. "_An Officer and a Gentleman."_

"Now why does that not surprise me?" Lisa typed rapidly; the screen changed and she was in. "Good god, does the man ever clean up his desktop?"

Gladys barely heard the question. She didn't have any powers, but one folder jumped out at her. It was titled 'Gladys'. "There. Click that one."

"Sure thing." Lisa clicked it. It held several files. One was called 'In the Event of my Untimely Death'. Others had names on them; 'Piggot', 'Danny', 'Mrs Yamada', 'Lisa' and 'Gladys', among others. And then there was the one called 'Da Book'. It was much larger than the others.

Lisa drew in a deep breath; Gladys reminded herself to breathe as well. "Fuckin' _jackpot."_

* * *

'In the Event' turned out to be a will, or rather, notes for one. Taylor was to get his pickup, he didn't want a statue … and Gladys was to get all of his worldly goods in the apartment, and give them to those people she thought needed them. There was also something about Cauldron, but Gladys didn't read very far into it; she was still stunned that Mike had thought so much of her that he would give her this responsibility.

"Well, who else is he gonna get to do it?" Lisa asked rhetorically. "I saw you two together a couple of times -"

"I didn't see you," Gladys protested.

Lisa looked smug. "You weren't supposed to. But you looked way cute. He trusted you. _Trusts_ you. No matter how the narrative turns out." There it was. The implicit agreement that yes, they both believed that they were living in a story. Gladys didn't _feel_ like a fictional character but then, she didn't know how a fictional character was supposed to feel.

"I … right." Gladys looked around at the apartment. "Can you help me? I wouldn't know where to start."

"Sure," Lisa agreed. "In a minute. I want to check out this one called 'Da Book'. Maybe it's our story. The one he was writing."

Suddenly very intensely curious, Gladys leaned in beside the teen as she clicked on the file. For a long moment, it didn't look as though anything was happening, then the file opened.

_Class ended in five minutes and all I could think was, __**an hour is too long for lunch.**_

Gladys read on, her eyes growing wider as she grasped the narrative. "That's -"

"Yeah." Lisa's voice was flat. "The original story. This is where we came from."

"But … but from what he told me, it was _enormous._ There's no way he would have been able to remember it all. Or type it all up. Not in the last couple of months."

"I think he had his brain upgraded," Lisa told her. "By Riley. He was showing signs of a greatly improved memory. And as for this, I suspect that he may have abbreviated things, leaving out irrelevant details."

Gladys didn't answer. She reached past Lisa, scrolling down as she read. The tale, as told from Taylor's point of view, of the ambush in the bathroom. Where she and Mike had come in, saving the day. But of course, in this story it didn't happen that way.

Lisa was rummaging in a drawer. Gladys frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Gotta save this," Lisa replied. "I have to read the whole thing. I need to know how it plays out. Don't you?"

Slowly, Gladys shook her head. "No. I don't. I think it should be destroyed. Wondering about what may have been is a good way to go mad or second-guess yourself."

"That sounds like something Mike would say." Lisa found a USB stick and popped it into the computer. In a few moments, the contents of the folder had found their way on to the small drive.

"I think he might have," Gladys agreed.

"Thought so. Want a copy?"

Gladys grimaced. "Just of the message he left for me, thanks." She had no desire to read other peoples' mail.

"Suit yourself." Lisa tapped the laptop with one fingernail. "And what about this?"

She didn't get what Lisa meant. "What _about_ it?"

"If I can get into it, so can other people. We're gonna need to wipe it clean. And I mean _clean._"

Given the nature of data storage technology, Gladys knew full well that a good enough tech could coax any file off of even a 'wiped' drive. "I'm not sure if that's possible. The PRT almost certainly has a cape on speed dial who can unwipe anything."

Lisa grinned. "Pretty sure I can handle that. I just need your permission to destroy some of this stuff he's left for you."

Gladys grimaced. "Very well. You have it."

* * *

They watched as the microwave platter slowly revolved. Inside, the laptop hard drive sputtered and sparked under the assault of the high-intensity radiation.

"And that'll destroy it?" asked Gladys.

Lisa grinned. "Destroy it? That'll _melt_ it."

"Ah. Good." Gladys closed her hand around the USB drive that Lisa had given her. On it was not only the message Mike had left for her, but also a selection of other files from the laptop's hard drive, things that Mike had written. She would read them later, in private, where nobody could see her cry.

* * *

**L33t's Workshop  
Wednesday, June 15, 2011**

* * *

"L33t? May I have a word?"

The Tinker looked up from his workbench in some surprise. There, standing at the door, was a gorgeous redhead. She stepped into the workshop, looking around with a great deal of interest.

There were two things wrong with this picture. The first was that gorgeous redheads, or women of any hair colour, really, did not make a habit of popping into L33t's workshop on a whim. The second was that this was a _secret_ workshop.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want? How did you find me?"

She stepped closer. "Relax," she advised him. "Unclench. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to _hire_ you. Mom sent me."

"And who's your mother?" He scanned the bench for a weapon, just in case she attacked him anyway.

"Dragon, duh."

That got his attention. He stared at her; the flawless complexion, the long red hair, the tiny mole beside her left eye … "Uh, if this is about the thing with Flechette, she kept ducking out on me. I _meant_ to get it done a lot sooner."

"This is nothing to do with that," she told him. "But you did good work, so Mom sent me to see if you could make something else for us."

"I, uh, okay." He stared, still trying to get his head around the idea. The rumour was that Dragon was an unfettered AI, and that she'd had _kids_ of a sort. Junior versions of herself. If this was one, then she was really, really good at pretending to be human.

"Hey." Her voice was amused. "I'll let you have a look at my schematics later, but for now you're gonna have to pay attention."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." He dragged his gaze back to her face. "Uh, what was your name again?"

She grinned. "Call me Pandora. I've got a thing I'd like you to build. To mimic a specific power."

"Uh, okay. What does this power do? Actually, better yet, bring the cape in and I'll study the power directly."

"Well, there's the tricky part. This cape doesn't exist. He would have triggered after Leviathan hit the city. I'm going off of a description of what he would have been able to do."

L33t was starting to get his composure back. This was starting to sound like a challenge. _Bring it._ "Okay, so what does this power do?"

"Well, as far as we understand it …"

* * *

**Brockton Bay  
The Crater  
Thursday, June 16, 2011**

* * *

The four-armed gorilla braced itself, then heaved the chunk of rubble out of the ground. Turning, it knuckle-walked toward the waiting truck and threw the rubble into the back.

Flechette moved closer to Parian. "Thanks for coming to help out."

Parian didn't look at her. "I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it because it needs to be done."

"Yeah, but …" Lily swallowed. "I'm sorry. I screwed up."

"No, you didn't just screw up," Parian told her, while the oversized stuffed toy lumbered back to the pile of rubble. "You screwed up and got _me_ dragged into it. Now the PRT knows that you were coming to see _me_ when you should have been working with L33t."

"I told them that you didn't know," Lily said desperately. "I didn't want you getting into trouble."

"Oh, I'm not in trouble_," _Sabah went on remorselessly. "But I _was _somewhat shocked to find out that you were supposed to be doing something else while you were seeing me."

"They didn't think you -" began Lily.

"No, thank God," Parian sighed. "You obviously put them straight about that."

"Well, I didn't want you getting into trouble as well."

"Which I do appreciate. But seriously, it was a _massively_ irresponsible thing to do. And now that they know about us, if you slip up in any way, they're likely to blame our relationship. And I might be a rogue, but I do _not_ need the PRT deciding that I'm a bad influence on one of their Wards. There's all sorts of ways they can make my life difficult if they so choose."

"Oh, god," Lily's voice was as hopeless as she felt. "You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"

Parian gave her a long, level stare. "The PRT would probably be happier if I did," she stated at last. "But I don't _want_ to. So I'm not going to. But we're going to have to make some changes to our relationship."

Flechette swallowed. "Changes?"

"Yes, changes." Sabah folded her arms. "First things first. If there's anything – _anything –_ you need to do before we can do stuff together, we do your stuff first. We don't just drop everything and go and see a movie _until_ you're done."

"Um, okay." Flechette would have agreed to giving Sabah foot rubs every time she saw her. _Actually, that's not a bad idea._

"Next thing – if you've got to go do something, maybe you should ask yourself if I might want to come along. You know, for the company."

Lily blinked. "You would have been okay with that?"

She couldn't see Sabah's face behind the doll mask, but she could imagine the rolling of those soft brown eyes. "Well, _yes._ It would have been time spent with _you._ And _then_ we could've gone to the movies."

Flechette slumped. "I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

"Well, yes, a bit, but you're _my_ idiot."

* * *

**Friday, June 17, 2011**

* * *

Danny pulled the rental car to a halt in the motel parking lot. The PRT was footing the bill for both the car and the motel until he and Taylor could find somewhere else to live, but this didn't mean that he could slack off. With the worldwide news that the Endbringers were no longer a threat, the economy was even now showing an uptick, and he fully intended for the Dockworkers to be in a position to take advantage of it.

As he walked up to the motel door, he noticed with a frown that it was ajar. With an aggravated sigh, he pushed it open. "Taylor," he called out. "When you come in, could you make sure -"

He stopped dead. The person sitting in one of the two armchairs was most definitely not Taylor.

"Come in," invited Marquis. "Sit down."

Danny blinked. "Uh – what are you doing here?"

The villain smiled disarmingly. "I don't intend to harm you. I just wish to talk about Amelia."

Slowly, carefully, Danny sat down in the other armchair. "What about her?"

"Well, for a start, you _are_ aware that she is my biological daughter, correct?"

"I did know that, yes." Danny nodded. "Is there a problem here?"

Marquis tilted his head. "Well, now that I am a free man, I would very much rather that she be given the choice to get to know her father once more. In my place, wouldn't you?"

"I do see your point, yes," agreed Danny. "However …"

"However?" Marquis' voice was silky, but there was undoubtedly steel underneath.

Danny chose his words carefully. "However, she does have the choice herself. She's sixteen. Also, Flashbang has given his permission for me to adopt her. Plus, she and Taylor are very attached to one another. So it might not be as cut and dried as you might have originally thought."

"Hmm." Marquis rubbed his neatly trimmed beard. "Your points are valid. However, if I do ask her, and she chooses me, you will not object?"

"It's her choice." Danny shrugged. "I just want her to be happy. She's really a sweet kid."

"I agree. It has always been in her nature."

* * *

"Hey, Dad!" called out Taylor as she pushed the motel door open, "guess what? We were down on the Boardwalk, and we saw some capes flying over the Boat Graveyard. I think they – whoa." She stopped so suddenly that Amy nearly ran into her.

"Hey, watch it, doofus," the frizzy-haired girl told her. "People walking here."

"Uh, sorry," Taylor apologised, not taking her eyes off the visitor. She had never met him before, but she was definitely familiar with Marquis' features. Once she had found out that he was Amy's father, they had gone online together, just to see what he looked like.

These days, bugs were never far away. She began to gather a swarm.

"Hey, wait," Amy said, stepping around her. "You're -"

"Indeed I am, little Amelia," Marquis agreed, standing up. "Well, not so little any more. You've grown since I last saw you."

"What are you doing here?" asked Amy. She looked at Danny. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Danny assured her. "We've only been talking."

"So what do you want?" asked Taylor, stepping protectively closer to her father. The dots were easy enough to connect. "It's about Amy, isn't it?"

"What do you want with me?" asked Amy, also stepping closer to Danny.

"Nothing untoward," Marquis promised. "I merely wish to talk with you."

"Is that it?" asked Amy. "Just to talk?"

"Well, yes," Marquis agreed. He looked at Taylor and Danny. "Would you mind giving us some privacy?"

Danny began to get up, but Amy shook her head. "No," she stated firmly. "They stay. Anything you've got to say to me, they can hear too."

Arching one eyebrow, Marquis nodded. "Very well. If you wish."

"That's what I wish," Amy said. "So what did you want to say to me?"

"I just wanted to say that have missed you so much. You've grown into a fine young woman. Your mother would be proud."

Amy frowned. "Who was she? My mother, I mean. Is she still alive?"

Marquis tilted his head. "What, they didn't tell you?"

"Who, Carol and Mark? No. Did you tell them before they sent you to prison?"

"Ah -" Marquis paused. "No, actually, I don't believe that I did. She was a young lady with whom I shared a rather passionate relationship for a while -"

"Whoa, whoa, time out," Taylor objected. "Minors here. Adults talking about passionate relationships is well into TMI. Just saying."

"What she said," Amy added. "Okay, this lady. You and her, we got it. Her name? Where she lives? Or is she a supervillain too?"

Sorrowfully, Marquis shook his head. "She is, sadly, deceased. Cancer took her away, around your fifth birthday. We had been separated for some time. I had not known she was pregnant, and she chose not to tell me. It was only when she was close to the end that she contacted me." He paused. "Do you remember nothing of her?"

"Do _you_ remember your fifth birthday?" retorted Amy. "Sorry, no. I don't even remember _you."_

"Ah." Marquis sighed sadly. "Her name was Helena Lavere. I had not expected to be a father all of a sudden, but I have to say, the year in which I got to know you was the happiest of my life."

"And then you were arrested and went to prison." Amy's voice was flat. "And I became Amy Dallon."

"Which raises the question," Marquis said. "You grew up with the Dallons, but now you wish to be adopted by the Heberts. Why?"

"Many reasons," Amy told him. "None of which are in any way your business."

"But I'm your _father," _he urged her. "Surely I deserve to know."

"You might be my father, but you're not my dad," she pointed out.

"Well, hardly," he agreed. "You haven't given me the chance."

She considered that. "Fine. I didn't like living with the Dallons. I _do_ like living with the Heberts. They might not be a family of superheroes, but we do fun things together."

_That's technically true, _Taylor thought. _One out of two doesn't make us a family of superheroes. Though with Amy it would make us two out of three._

"That sounds eminently reasonable," he admitted. "However, I wish to ask you if you would be willing to acknowledge me as your father once more. In a legal sense, that is."

"Wait, what now?" Amy shook her head. "You want to … what would you call it? Claim me? Re-adopt me? How does this even work?"

"I will confess that I have not yet looked into the legal minutiae of the process," Marquis admitted. "But it certainly won't go anywhere without your agreement."

Taylor raised her chin. "There's also that bit about you being a criminal," she pointed out. "Amy's a superhero. This might make it a bit harder."

Marquis smiled tightly. "I participated in the battle against Zion," he replied. "That gave all of us a pass. I'm a free man now. Slate wiped clean."

"Mike told me a little about you," Amy said. "He said that you never hurt a woman or a child. You never ran drugs."

"Well, then." Marquis' voice was pleased. "I wish I'd had the chance to meet the man, and shake his hand."

"He _also_ said," Amy went on, "that you had the delightful habit of murdering any of your henchmen who let you down. They were never seen again."

"He does seem to have been very well-informed." Marquis didn't sound as pleased now. "But all of that is in the past. You can be certain that I will be under extremely close scrutiny, as will all of the other Birdcage parolees. Any attempt to return to my previous life of crime would undoubtedly result in a re-introduction to the prison system and then the Birdcage in very short order."

"I dislike the idea of Amy going to live with you for several reasons," Danny stated firmly.

Marquis raised a cultured eyebrow. "Name them."

"As Taylor said, you're a criminal."

"Reformed until proven otherwise."

"You have nowhere to live, no way to support her."

A faint smile. "Don't be so sure." A gesture at the motel room. "In any case, the same could be said about you."

"She and Taylor have grown close. You wouldn't separate her from her best friend."

"Who said anything about separating them?" Marquis shrugged. "I wish her all the luck with her friends. We need as many as we can get in today's world."

Danny frowned, frustrated. "She doesn't know you. She knows _us."_

Marquis spread his hands. "Easily remedied by spending time with me."

Heaving an aggravated sigh, Danny turned to Amy. "Okay, here's the question. _Do_ you want to go back to Marquis?"

_She'll never say yes._

For the longest moment, Amy hesitated. "I … if it was anyone but you guys, I'd probably pick him," she admitted. "Mike also told me about the princess costume and the tea parties." She turned to Marquis. "I can tell that you really want to _be_ my dad."

"But … ?" he prompted.

"But it's been _ten years._ I'm not six any more. I'm _sixteen. _Right now, Mrs Yamada says I need stability in my life."

"And Mrs Yamada is …?"

"My therapist." She said it simply, with no particular embarrassment. "She's very good at what she does, and she _cares._ So if she says I need stability, I need stability. And I can't help but think that you haven't had the chance to learn what it's like to live with a teenage girl. There would be problems. Adjustments to be made."

"Three hour showers, and the beeper on the fridge going off at all hours," put in Danny dryly. "Because teenagers love their midnight snacks." She poked her tongue out at him.

"So we can _make_ those adjustments," Marquis urged. "It can't be so hard."

Taylor caught her father's eye and they both chuckled at the same time. Marquis looked at them, then back at Amy, who was also now grinning. "What's so funny?"

"If you don't know, then explaining it isn't going to help," she said obscurely.

He frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Welcome to the world of teenage girls," Danny told him cheerfully. "I _raised_ Taylor, and I still feel horribly inadequate for the job on occasion."

"It's true," Taylor added. "Amy and I hit it off almost from the start, but we still had our rough patches. We got over them, though."

Marquis sighed. "So that's a no, then."

"Yeah, that's a no," Amy confirmed. "But I'll still visit, if you want. We can get to know each other again. Just not living in the same house."

Marquis was not a man used to being told 'no', Taylor could tell. But he was also apparently quite good at adapting to changing circumstances. By the time Amy finished speaking, he was nodding in agreement.

"I suppose that's the best I'll be able to get for the moment," he said. "In the meantime, how are you off financially? Do you need any assistance?"

That earned him a slow double blink from Danny, and stunned looks from the two girls.

" … what?" Danny sounded as though he wasn't sure what to make of the statement. "_You're_ offering to help _us?"_

_Give us money to make Amy like you more?_ But Taylor didn't voice the suspicion.

"I _did_ imply that I am not cash-poor," Marquis pointed out. "If Amelia isn't going to be living with me, I'm willing to help out with living expenses."

"Wait, where are you even getting this money _from?"_ asked Taylor. "Don't they freeze the bank accounts of convicted criminals or something?"

"Why yes, they do," Marquis admitted. "However, given my contributions to the war effort, they unfroze some of my previous savings, and I also have some long-term investments that I can dip into. I'm willing to assist you in your living expenses until you can get back on your feet."

Danny shook his head. "I'm not taking your money. I don't take charity, and I don't do loans if I can possibly help it."

"Very well, let's call it … hmm." Marquis considered. "'Child support' should do. After all, Amelia _is_ my child, and I would like to give her money so that she can support herself."

"Okay, suppose you do this," Amy said. "Would I then be obligated to visit you more often?"

Marquis looked pained. "No. I give you my word that there would be no such strings attached." He smiled disarmingly. "I would not _object_ to spending more time with you, but neither will I demand such. You are justifiably dubious about my motives; after all, I _was_ a notorious villain. And I know enough about teenagers to be aware that if I tried to push the issue, you would push back."

Amy nodded. "I know what Taylor's allowance is. I'll accept that much."

"You don't have to -" began Taylor.

"Actually, yeah, I do," Amy told her. "I'm not gonna accept more allowance than you, even if it's a freebie." She turned to Danny. "And I do actually have an idea how tightly stretched we are. So yeah, I'll do this, to give you a little breathing space."

"How selfless of you," Marquis commented with a twinkle in his eye. "If I didn't know for a fact that you're my daughter, I'd be having my doubts about now."

Amy shrugged. "I suppose that's _something _to be said for growing up in a house full of superheroes. You get the 'we strive toward the greater good' speech on a regular basis."

"Really?" asked Taylor. "Who gave you that one? Brandish or Flashbang?"

"Actually, Vicky," snorted Amy. "She _lives_ that sort of thing." Her mouth quirked. "Though I really shouldn't make fun of her. She _did_ tackle Zion off of me."

"For which I will be forever grateful," Marquis said. "I understand that Golem also had a hand in the matter."

"Yeah," Taylor agreed, then stopped herself. "I'd really like to thank him, whoever he is."

"I think so too," Danny agreed. "Maybe Amy could invite him over for dinner or something?"

Amy grinned slyly. "Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. Doesn't it, Taylor? You'd get to meet a real live superhero."

As tempted as she was to make a very rude gesture in Amy's direction, Taylor chose not to. _This is more than the secret identity thing, like it was with Chris. She knows we both know each other. There's something deeper going on, something I don't know about. Whatever it is, she finds it very amusing. And she knows I'm not about to out myself in front of Marquis. _"Maybe."

It seemed that the ex-villain was just as perceptive as Taylor. "Is there a joke going on here that I don't know about?"

Taylor was pretty sure that Danny wasn't in on whatever Amy was smiling about, but he played along anyway, rolling his eyes. "You may recall we were talking about teenage girls? Welcome to my world."

"I see." Marquis' voice was dry as he got up out of the armchair. "Well, then, I shall take my leave. I'll be in touch, Danny. See you later, Amelia. Miss Hebert." A nod to Taylor, and he walked toward the door.

They watched him open it and walk out; it was only when the door clicked shut behind him that Taylor let herself relax. "Holy crap," she muttered. "Did he threaten you at all, Dad?"

"No, not at all," Danny told her. "I've been in union meetings that were uglier than that. For the most part we talked about the ferry and the Boat Graveyard."

"It sounds like you _liked_ the man," Taylor said, just a little disbelievingly. "He's a _criminal,_ for crying out loud."

Danny chuckled. "Some of the people I've had to work with around the city skate pretty close to that line themselves. He's very likeable. And once I got past the murderous-supervillain aspect, it turned out that he has some interesting views."

Taylor shook her head. "I just don't like that we're associating with him at all." She turned to Amy. "You're really going to be taking his money?"

Amy shrugged. "It'll be helping you guys out, and it's not like he'll actually have a hold over me with it. I'll actually be saving most of it for later."

"Well, just be careful, okay?" Taylor put an arm around her shoulders. "I mean, I know he's your dad and all, but -"

Amy shook her head. "That's not my dad. _He's_ my dad." She pointed at Danny, who looked absurdly pleased.

Taylor hugged Amy more tightly. "Darn right."

That was when they heard the knock on the door.

* * *

_He's come back to claim Amy once and for all._ Danny knew – or thought he knew – the fear was groundless, but a chill still went down his back. "He's not back, is he?"

Taylor shook her head. "No, he's in his car, at the end of the block. Waiting at the lights."

"Then who's that at the door?"

Amy crossed to the door and peered through the peephole. "Oh. It's Vicky."

Danny shared a glance with Taylor. He remembered all too well the events at the party. Amy's shoulders still held bruising from Vicky's grip. But she had, by all accounts, acquitted herself well in the battle.

Amy glanced over her shoulder, just as the knock came again. "Do we let her in?"

"Well, it's not like we can keep her out," Danny pointed out. "Let's see what she wants."

Amy nodded and unlocked the door. "Hi," she said to the blonde waiting on the doorstep.

"Hi, Ames," Vicky replied. "Don't worry. Not here to bust up the place."

Danny nodded. "Well, in that case, come on in. How can we help you?"

Vicky entered; she was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, with brightly coloured sneakers. "I came to apologise. I was a jerk."

Once again, Danny and Taylor shared a glance. Danny cleared his throat. "That's very responsible of you. Though I am curious. What brought this on?"

Vicky grimaced. "Yesterday. After I left. I was so mad about it. Telling myself that it was somebody else's fault. I wasn't in the wrong. I _couldn't _be in the wrong. But then Scion blew up the house and I thought you were _dead, _Ames. I looked for you. You were just _gone."_

"Mike pulled us out, just in time," Amy said quietly. "He took a hit that would have cut me in half."

A tight-lipped nod. "Yeah, I found that out later. So I was trying to rescue the survivors around the edge, because that's what _you'd_ have done. When you lose someone you took for granted, it's amazing how much it hurts, and how the little stuff didn't really matter, when it's all said and done." She glanced at Danny. "You know what I mean?"

Danny nodded slowly, recalling Annette. "Yes. I know."

She refocused on Amy. "So yeah, I got a whole new perspective right then. Cleaning up someone _else's_ mess, without you to backstop me. I saw it all in a totally new light, and I realised where I went wrong. I finally got why you kept on getting pissed off with me." She walked over and gave her sister a hug. "It was like one of those, what do you call 'em …"

"Epiphanies," Taylor supplied, her voice quiet.

"Yeah, them. Epiphanies." Vicky turned to Taylor. "Look, I'm sorry I wrecked your party, and I'm _really_ sorry I went off the deep end and hurt Mike."

"It wasn't as bad as it seemed," Danny put in. "But the fact remains that you were _wrong_ to do it."

"I _know!"_ Vicky clenched one hand in the other. "Especially after I heard what he did. I just attacked him for something that was bullshit, and then he went and did … that." She hung her head. "I feel like total shit."

Danny could feel Vicky's aura pulsing. With the emotions the blonde was feeling, it should have been flaring, but Vicky was actually working to hold it in. _I'm impressed._

"You're really sincere, aren't you?" Amy put her arms around Vicky and gave her a hug.

"Yeah. I am. Can you ever forgive me?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Sisters, remember?"

"But you're getting adopted by Taylor's dad, aren't you?"

"And? You'll always be my sister."

"Dammit, don't make me cry." Vicky sniffled slightly. "There was something else I wanted to say."

"What's that?"

"Your therapy sessions. That invite still open to sit in?"

Amy stood back with her hands on Vicky's shoulders. "Wow. You _are_ serious."

Vicky nodded. "Well, yeah. If I'd actually taken you up on the offer _then, _I wouldn't have been blindsided so badly at the party, yeah?"

"Yeah, well." Amy rested her forehead against Vicky's. "Not blaming you, mind."

Danny knew what they weren't saying. _Carol was against it, so nobody went._

"Yeah, no, I got that. I might even see if I can drag Dad along."

Amy smiled. "I think that'll be a really good start."

Vicky checked her watch. "Well, I've gotta get going, but let me know when the next session is and I'll be there."

"Okay, sure." Amy paused. "And Vicky?"

"Yeah?" The blonde superhero stopped at the door.

"When you came out of nowhere and barrelled Zion into the wall? That was some kinda badass, right there."

Vicky grinned. "I know, right?" She opened the door and stepped out; it closed behind her.

"Well." Danny leaned back in the armchair. "That happened."

"Is it just me, or has she really changed?" asked Taylor.

Amy nodded. "I really think she has." She smiled. "I think I'm looking forward to the next session."

"If nothing else," Taylor said, "it'll be interesting."

Danny nodded. _She's probably right, at that._

* * *

Epilogue One: To be Continued


	53. Chapter 53

**Security!**

* * *

Epilogue One (continued)

* * *

**Part Three: In the Weeks and Months That Followed …**

* * *

**PRT HQ Brockton Bay  
Monday, June 20, 2011**

* * *

"He's gone. He's really gone."

Riley looked like hell. She hadn't brushed her hair in days, so that it hung in ratty tangles. It was obvious that she hadn't been sleeping well either, judging from the large dark bags under her eyes. She didn't even look up at Theo as she spoke, her voice a dull mumble.

"Hey. Hey hey hey." He crossed to where she sat in her office chair. Even her desk, normally immaculate, was a mess. Papers were strewn all over, a coffee cup lay in pieces under a mark on the wall, and someone had impaled several papers to the wooden desk via a large syringe. "I'm still here. You've still got friends."

"But Mike's _dead!"_ Her voice rose to a wail, tears beginning to start down her cheeks. "What am I supposed to do _now?"_

"What the rest of us have to do." He knelt beside her chair and put his arms around her. She didn't resist, and after a few moments, he felt her arms creep around him. "We have to go on. He didn't do all this for us just so we could screw up his legacy once he was gone."

Her head came to rest on his shoulder and she sniffled. "I guess not. I'm just not used to _caring_ for someone so much. Not since Jack showed me how stupid it was to care for my parents."

"That's not stupid," he told her firmly. "It's never stupid to care."

She pulled back a little so that she could look directly at him. "You told me your father's a total jerk. In lots of ways."

"Well, yeah, he is," Theo admitted. "Okay, I don't really care for him. But Kayden is different. She married Kaiser after Mom died, but she still cares for me. And I care for her. And I really care for Aster. She's my sister and I'll protect her every chance I get."

Riley giggled, a little damply. "You're gonna be that scary older brother type, aren't you?"

He grinned in reply. "In a heartbeat."

She sighed. "I wish _my_ older brother was here to do that for me."

"I can do that," Theo told her promptly. "Who do you want beaten up? I'll beat him up for you."

That startled a laugh out of her. "Well, I don't actually want anyone beaten up, but … visits and hugs might be nice."

"I can do that too." Theo pondered for a moment. "I know that Mrs Yamada's really busy right now, but I'll ask her if she can't make some time in her schedule for you. Because I think you really need it."

"Oh, god," Riley blurted. "And let her see me like _this?"_ She looked down at herself; for the first time, Theo realised that she apparently hadn't changed clothing since the battle with Zion. Or, by the smell of it, bathed.

"Well, I personally think that she won't judge, but it probably wouldn't hurt to have a shower and clean the place up a little." Theo grinned and held his nose theatrically. "Pee-yew."

Riley looked around for something to throw at him, settling for a piece of paper that she first crumpled into a ball. "That's not nice."

"Sometimes big brothers have gotta say things that aren't nice," he pointed out as the paper bounced off his chest and joined the mess on the floor. "Oh. And something else I was gonna say."

"What's that?" He had her fully engaged now.

"I've been invited to dinner with Taylor and Amy and their dad. I'm pretty sure they'd be okay with me bringing you along. Wanna come?"

Her eyes dropped for a moment. "I dunno …"

"Come on, Riley. Work with me here."

She heaved a sigh. "Okay. It'll be nice to see big sis Amy again. Sure, I'll come."

His broad smile lit up the office. "Awesome. Come on, I'll help you clean up the place."

"Careful with the papers," she warned him. "I have my own system."

"So I see." His voice was very dry.

She stuck out her tongue at him.

* * *

**L33t's Workshop  
Thursday, June 23, 2011**

* * *

"So, is it finished?"

L33t held up the device; it looked like an ungainly blaster rifle from any one of a dozen science-fiction shows. That is to say, typical Tinker tech. "As best as I can manage. Haven't tested it yet, of course."

"So what's it supposed to do?" asked Über.

"The power's from a cape who doesn't exist yet," explained Pandora.

"Which didn't help at _all_ in the design phase," L33t groused.

She grinned at him. "You know you love a challenge." Turning to Über, she continued with her explanation. "It swaps a chunk of this universe with the same block of space from another one. So for all intents and purposes, it looks like it disintegrates whatever you're targeting."

Über's eyes narrowed. "I don't get it. If it swaps stuff, wouldn't you get the stuff from the other side? Why does it look like it's disintegrating stuff?"

"Because it's another universe," explained L33t. "Another Earth. Things aren't the same there. I mean, local geography, sure. Trees in unpopulated areas, probably. But a building here wouldn't be in the same place as in, say, Earth Aleph. So if I pointed it at the wall and pulled the trigger, a chunk of our wall would be replaced by whatever's in the universe it's swapping with, which is probably empty air."

"Which makes it look like it's disintegrating stuff," Über said, comprehension dawning on his face. "I get it now. Christ. That sounds like a horrific weapon. Manton limited?"

"The original power wasn't," Pandora told him. "But it's not a weapon. It's a tool. We're not going to be killing people with it. We're going to be _helping_ people."

"I'm still not sure how," L33t said. "But the payment cleared. Here's your swappy-gun thing." He held it out to her.

"Swappy-gun thing?" Über shook his head. "Dude, we _have _to talk about your naming techniques."

Pandora hefted the device. "Before I take it, I'd like to test it out. Got someplace I could do that?"

L33t nodded, ignoring his partner's comment. "Sure. Out the back. It's only got a range of ten feet, so it's not like we're going to be disturbing the neighbours."

"And the size of the chunk?" asked Pandora, following him out through the back door.

"One foot diameter," he said. "That's what you wanted, right?"

"Right," she agreed. "Okay, how does it work?"

"Point the muzzle at the target you want to use it on." L33t pointed at a switch on the side. "That lights up three targeting lasers. When they intersect on the same point, that's ten feet away. Pull the trigger to make it go zap."

"Make it go zap?" muttered Über.

"Shut up," L33t told him without heat. "I built it; I can call it what I like."

The back yard was about thirty by thirty feet, stacked here and there with piles of junk, or what L33t called 'spare parts'. Pandora took aim at what appeared to be half a car axle and flipped the switch on the side. Three dots appeared on the end of the axle; she swung the device until the dots merged into one. "Firing now," she warned L33t.

However, when she pressed the trigger, nothing happened. She held her aim, then pressed the trigger again. "It doesn't appear to be working," she observed.

"Uh oh," muttered Über, taking a step back.

"What do you mean, 'uh oh'?" demanded L33t. "Just because something doesn't work on the very first try doesn't mean that it's going to automatically blow up."

"No, but it normally does," Über reminded him, retreating to the door.

"Uh, now it's starting to vibrate. And whine a little." Pandora stared at the device in her hands. "Should I be doing something?"

L33t took a step toward her. "Is the whine steadily increasing in pitch and frequency?"

"Yes, I think it is."

His voice was filled with forced calm. "Drop it and run. Now."

The rising pitch of the whine became an ear-splitting screech; Pandora tossed it toward the midle of the yard and bolted toward the door. Über was already back in the workshop; L33t was halfway through the door when Pandora tackled him inside. They were still skidding across the floor when there was an almost soundless _whoomph _from the back yard.

L33t disentangled himself from Pandora and sat up, looking toward the back door. It wasn't there; nor was a curved section of the floor, along with a mostly-circular section of wall. Climbing to his feet, L33t stumbled toward the hole in the wall. The back yard was still mostly there, but it was almost unrecognisable. Part of the trunk of a large tree, cut off on a perfectly spherical boundary, was surrounded by a circle of leaf litter, along with vines and a few fallen branches. Writhing in the middle of it all was a snake.

Well … _part_ of a snake. The middle part, to be exact. The area that had been excised was more than twenty feet across, and the snake had been much longer than that. It was also thicker through the body than even Über, which was kind of a frightening thought. He was abruptly glad that the head had _not_ been brought through.

"Well, okay then," Über said, joining him. "It looks like we definitely get stuff back from the other universe. Wonderful."

"Well, rewrite my code and call me Aunt Sally." Pandora stared at the greenery and the oversized section of snake. "That was _not_ on the list of things I might have expected to happen_."_

"Yeah," L33t admitted weakly. "The trouble is, we can't really detect what's on the other side before we do the swap."

"And now the swappy-gun thing is now in the other universe along with your bits of scrap, isn't it?" asked Über.

"Spare parts, but yes," said L33t. "I have no idea where it even went. Given the nature of the local wildlife, I'm not pressingly eager to go and get it back."

"Not that it's much of a loss, given that _we_ were nearly in the bit that got swapped," Über observed.

"Yeah, but that was the only prototype," L33t reminded him.

"What do you think went wrong with it?" asked Pandora.

L33t shrugged. "It decided to blow up? I dunno. I've had things like this happen before, but it's usually because I've made something too similar."

Pandora's shoulders slumped slightly. "Oh, well. That's that, then." She turned to walk away.

"Actually," L33t mused, "come to think of it, it might be that Flechette gun thing that I made for the war. They're both about punching into other realities. It's just that one's about _attacking_ everything in all realities, and the other's about _swapping_ between realities."

The reaction from Pandora was dramatic. She spun around and grabbed L33t by the head, pulling his face down to her level. "You're a _genius!"_ she told him, then kissed him soundly.

"Guh … guh … guh … what?" L33t tried to calm his spinning thoughts. By the time he managed that, Pandora was gone. "What happened?"

"She kissed you and then ran out the door." Über shook his head. "Seriously, dude. I've _told_ you about kissing robot girls. You never know where they've been."

"Shut up. You're just jealous that the hot robot chick didn't kiss _you."_

"Doesn't mean I'm not right."

L33t stalked forward until he was face to face with Über, his face set in a scowl. "There's only one way we can settle this."

Über scowled right back. "You're right. Call of Duty deathmatch it is."

"I'll get the munchies."

"What about the snake and stuff?"

"Eh, it'll still be there when we finish."

* * *

**The Crater  
That Afternoon**

* * *

Flechette slid down off the back of the four-armed gorilla. As Parian climbed down more demurely, Lily was already examining the next obstacle to the cleanup. As it happened, this was a chunk of concrete the size of an SUV, with lengths of rebar sticking out at odd angles.

"Road's damaged a ways back," Aegis commented, drifting down alongside them. "So they can't get heavy machinery in to shift this. It's well outside my weight range, and probably the gorilla's, so it could be problematic,"

"No, it's really not." Lily pretended to crack her knuckles. "Parian, could I borrow a pair of scissors?"

"Uh … okay?" From a pouch at the dollmaker's belt, a pair of scissors appeared and floated toward Lily, who caught them out of the air.

"Thank you," she said, moving toward the chunk of concrete. Selecting the straightest section of rebar, she sent a whisper of her power into the scissors and then snipped off the rebar, allowing a three-foot section to clatter to the cracked pavement.

Aegis stared. "How the _hell_ did you do that?"

"You really didn't read up too closely about my powers, did you?" Grinning, Lily tossed the scissors into the air; Parian caught them with her telekinesis and conveyed them back to herself. Then Lily crouched down and picked up the rebar with both hands, holding it like a sword.

"You make arrows armour-piercing, I thought. And they go further."

"I do, and they do. But I got told something recently about my powers. I can make projectiles ignore things like obstacles and gravity and friction. That's because I make them exist in all universes at once, so they bypass anything that's in just one universe."

There was more she could have told him. _Zion called it Sting. It was the only thing they feared._ But she chose not to, because she had no idea how to answer the questions which would be provoked by that particular revelation.

Instead, she ran her hand down the rebar, energising it with her power. It became as light as a feather in her grip. "But here's the fun bit. It doesn't have to be just projectiles."

So saying, she turned and used the rebar to slice cleanly through a jutting piece of concrete, letting it fall to the pavement. The gorilla lumbered forward and picked up the section she had removed, tossing it to Aegis, who caught it with a grunt. As Aegis flew off toward the truck, Flechette re-energised the rebar and attacked the chunk once more. Her improvised blade sliced through concrete and steel as if it were not even there, allowing her to section the large piece of rubble into much smaller pieces of rubble.

Just as she was lining up to cut the last piece into two, to facilitate ease of carrying, the roar of jet engines became audible. She made the cut, then turned to watch a Dragon craft come in for a landing on the roadway.

The hatch on the side of the craft opened, and a woman climbed out; she wore clothing reminiscent of First World War aviation leathers. Her blonde hair was styled in a pixie cut. "Hi!" she called. "I've just come to borrow Flechette for a little bit, if nobody minds?"

"No, wait, what?" Aegis, on his way back, swerved toward the woman. "Ma'am, you're going to have to identify yourself. You really shouldn't be here; we're clearing rubble and it could get dangerous."

"Oh, sorry." The woman smiled brilliantly. "I'm Theresa Richter. Dragon's daughter? Mom's on the line to the PRT. You should get word from them any minute now."

At that moment, Aegis' phone rang. Flechette felt as though she had walked into a movie halfway through. "But … what do you want me _for?"_

Theresa grinned at her. "If Mom's right, it'll be really awesome. But I don't want to raise your expectations needlessly. You can bring the rebar; that's exactly what we need."

"What's going on?" asked Parian.

Lily spread her hands. "I have _no_ idea."

They both looked at Aegis, who was still talking on the phone. Or rather, he was doing a lot of listening. Finally, he said, "Yes, sir. I'll do that right away, sir."

"Let me guess," Theresa said as he put the phone away. "Flechette's supposed to come with me?"

Aegis shrugged. "That's what the Deputy Director says." He turned to Flechette. "Go with, uh, Ms Richter. Help her out however she needs. Keep me posted."

"Uh, can Parian come too?" asked Lily.

"She's not under PRT command," Aegis decided. "Ms Richter, it's your call."

"Sure, why not? Come on, let's go." Theresa ducked back into the craft. She leaned out again. "I'll just open the hatch for your, uh, pet."

The rear hatch motored down so that Parian could guide the four-armed gorilla on board, while she and Lily entered the Dragon craft via the side hatch. Once they were settled in the surprisingly comfortable seats, Theresa vaulted the craft skyward in a roar of jets.

"Where are we going?" asked Flechette. "Can you tell me that, at least?"

"Sure," Theresa replied with a brilliant smile. "The Trainyards."

* * *

**The Trainyards**

* * *

Melanie Fitts, also known as Faultline, pulled the car to a halt, surveying the area carefully. She didn't _think_ Dragon's call had been the bait for a trap, but stranger things had happened. The only other people she could see were the two women standing in front of a Dragon craft, across the parking lot. One had long black hair and matched the description she had of Dragon herself, while the other was a redhead.

"Come on, Elle," she said softly. In the passenger seat, Labyrinth snapped back from whatever distant place her mind had been wandering, and opened her door. They were both in costume, of course; whatever happened, Faultline intended to be ready for it. As she got out of the car, she smeled rusting metal, which wasn't surprising; the entire Trainyards was in the process of gradually returning to the earth from which it had once been mined.

Side by side, they walked toward the pair standing before the Dragon craft. "Dragon," she greeted the Tinker. "I'd heard you were an AI. Was I wrong?"

"No," Dragon replied with a smile. "I'm pleased to meet you, Faultline. And of course you too, Labyrinth. This is Pandora."

Melanie had also heard of Pandora and Theresa, Dragon's two 'daughters'. Rumours for their origin spanned the gamut from adopted humans through artificial humans grown in a test tube to full AIs. She didn't care, so long as nothing went sideways on this mission. That it _was_ a mission, there was no doubt; in this case, the primary objective was 'make sure Elle gets home safely'.

"Right." She raised her chin. "You contacted me, said that you had a business opportunity for me. But before you would give me more details, I had to meet you and bring Labyrinth along. So we're here. What's the deal?"

"I've received some very interesting information on Labyrinth's constructions," Dragon told her. "They literally exist in more worlds than one."

"Interesting, certainly," agreed Faultline. "But not particularly earth-shattering."

"True," said Dragon. "But it _is_ the reason I asked you to come here. You and Flechette."

Almost as if on cue, the roar of jets split the air, and Faultline looked around to see a second Dragon craft angling in for a landing. It touched down not far from the first one, far enough away that only a few pieces of gravel bounced past them.

Faultline restrained herself from asking, _What's Flechette doing here?_ It would make her look less in control. And in any case, she would find out in a few moments. She watched the hatch open in the side of the craft; three people got out. One was a blonde with a pixie cut, while the other two were …

"Flechette and Parian," she noted. _And that would be Theresa._ "What's Parian got to do with this?"

"Nothing, really," Dragon advised her. "She's just along for the ride, apparently. Flechette, Parian, I'd like you to meet my daughter Pandora. Faultline, Labyrinth, meet Theresa."

_So the rumours are true._ Faultline had heard mention of the Ward and the rogue spending a lot of time together in costume. This suggested a relationship out of costume. _Well, more power to them._

"So we're all here," she announced. "I think it's about time we stopped beating about the bush. Why did you want Labyrinth here?"

"I think her power can be used to make holes between universes," Dragon stated bluntly.

Behind the welding mask, Melanie's eyebrows rose. "I'm fairly sure that's not true," she replied just as bluntly. "We would have noticed at some point."

"It required the right power interaction," Pandora explained. "We were originally going to go with the power of a kid called Scrub."

"Never heard of him."

"That's because he doesn't have powers in _this_ timeline," Dragon said patiently. "But if Security hadn't changed matters, he _would_ have."

The more Melanie heard of what Michael Allen had done here and there, and the effects that he'd had on events, the more pleased she was that she had chosen not to do anything about him. "So how does this help us? If the kid doesn't have powers, he doesn't have powers."

"Even in his absence, we have two things. One, the knowledge that it _can_ be done. And two, Tinkers who can replicate powers."

"And yeah, we tried to replicate the original power," Pandora chimed in. "Didn't work. Because L33t already built something to replicate a power that had similar effects."

"L33t. Oh, god," muttered Faultline. "You went to _him?"_ She wanted to facepalm, but the welding mask would have gotten in the way.

"Hey, he's made some pretty impressive stuff," Pandora told her. "Anyway, he gave me the idea for what we're gonna try. Labyrinth, we're gonna need you to build something. Small would be better."

"How small are we talking?" asked Melanie.

"Something maybe just a bit bigger than a train tunnel," Dragon said. "Can you manage that?"

"Give me a moment," Faultline replied. She turned to Elle and began explaining quietly what they needed.

* * *

"What's going on?" asked Parian, not for the first time.

"I'm not sure," Lily said. "I think they want Labyrinth to build something and then maybe I've got to damage it? And that'll do something. I'm not sure what."

"Well, they did say the gun with your power made Scion's fake body disappear," Sabah pointed out. "Maybe they want you to do the same here."

"That's what I'm wondering about." Flechette hefted the rebar. It wasn't energised with her power, so it was as heavy as any other chunk of steel. "When Weaver did that, it revealed Zion's real body behind it. But there's nothing to reveal here. What are we gonna get? Is this even a good idea?"

"Well, _Dragon's_ doing it, so I guess she knows what she's doing," Parian said. But her tone was dubious.

Lily grinned at her. "So, remember what you said that time about me bringing you along? Still sure that's a good idea?"

Sabah reached down and took her free hand. "If I'm with you, it's a good idea."

* * *

Together, they watched the building erect itself. Walls grew from the ground and merged with the main structure, while the ground itself grew weird spiky roses and other plants that Lily didn't recognise. The whole thing was beginning to look like a cathedral in miniature, but one built to a deity that Flechette wasn't sure she wanted to know about.

"Okay, that's big enough," Dragon decided, after exactly ten minutes had passed by Flechette's internal clock. "Everyone back off."

"I thought you said this was safe," Faultline told her accusingly, shepherding Labyrinth back toward the Dragon craft with the others.

"I know that it can be done relatively safely," Dragon replied. "I don't know if this is the safest way to do it. But I think it is."

Flechette rolled her eyes. _"That's _reassuring." She paused. "What do I do?"

Dragon indicated the miniature cathedral. "Can you hit that from here?"

Lily snorted. "I could hit it from a lot farther away, if I had to."

"Perhaps we should," Faultline suggested. "I'm almost certain this that has never been done before. A safe minimum distance is _always_ a good idea at a time like this."

Dragon nodded. "You make a good point. We'll pull back to Flechette's maximum range."

* * *

Sabah wondered if it had been such a great idea to insist on going everywhere with Lily. Events were moving a little fast for her, and she had no idea what sort of results would arise from Dragon's plan. She stole a sideways look at the Ward, standing by the hatch, and got a wink in return. It made her feel a little better, but not much.

The hatch motored open, letting in the roar of the jets as the Dragon craft hovered in the air, quite a distance from Labyrinth's construction. The other craft, with Faultline and Labyrinth on board, was nearby, also hanging in the air.

"_Ready, Flechette?"_ That was Dragon, speaking to them over the radio earpieces that she had given them.

"_Ready," _Flechette replied. She ran her hand down the length of the piece of rebar, imparting her power effect to it.

Dragon's voice was firm. _"Go."_

Parian watched Flechette take aim, then she threw the yard-long piece of steel like a dart. It flew straight and true, crossing the distance in less than a second, and struck the 'cathedral' dead centre. An instant later, the construction vanished as if it had never been. But in its place …

"_Christ. What __**is**__ that?"_ It was Faultline, the woman's habitual reserve gone for once. In fairness, she had a good reason; where Labyrinth's 'cathedral' had stood, there was now a void. More accurately, there _wasn't_ a void. There was _nothing; _the eye tended to skate off of it. It was pure white, without texture or depth.

"_The space between worlds."_ That was Dragon. _"Labyrinth?"_

"_It's deep," _Labyrinth's voice was quiet. _"There's so much there. Worlds that I didn't make."_

"_You can push into it," _Dragon told her. _"There will be worlds that are close to the surface. We're looking for one that's easy to push into, as if people have already been there, more than once."_

Parian wondered at the odd phrasing. It was almost as if Dragon were reading from a script.

Labyrinth wasn't long in answering. _"There's three like that."_

Parian met Lily's eyes as the Ward sat down beside her. It wasn't hard to guess her thoughts. _Three?_

"_Two will have life, and one will not,"_ Dragon said carefully. _"One will have lots of people, and the other just a few. Can you find that one?"_

"_I can't tell if there is life in them, until I open them,"_ Labyrinth's voice was dreamy. _"One's like this -"_

The image shifted from formless white to a black starfield. An abrupt howling gale came up, sucking everything toward the portal. The jets on each Dragon craft roared in response, pushing the craft away from the hole in space.

"_Close it!" _screamed Faultline's voice over the comm. _"Close it now!"_

"_We can't." _Dragon's voice was still calm, in control. _"Labyrinth, change to another world."_

The gale roared on; Sabah was not at all sure that they weren't being sucked toward it. She tried to imagine how much air was being drawn through the hole every second, and couldn't. Lily's hand caught hers, and she clutched at it like a lifeline.

Then all she could hear was the scream of the jets; sudden acceleration pressed her hard into the seat. Both Dragon craft were soaring away from the portal, which was no longer giving a good impression of a black hole.

"_Well done," _Dragon said. _"Labyrinth, does this world have people on it?"_

"_Many, all over the world," _Labyrinth replied.

"_This will be Earth Aleph, then," _Dragon decided. _"Can you move it to the third one you detected?"_

The Dragon craft were swooping back around by now; side by side, they grounded near the portal.

"_Is it safe?" _asked Faultline. _"Shouldn't we keep our distance?"_

"_So long as we don't switch back to the first world, we should be fine,"_ Pandora assured her. _"That's the one where they blew up the planet to piss off Zion."_

There was no real way to top that comment, as far as Sabah was concerned. Faultline obviously thought the same way, as she stayed silent.

They disembarked from the craft; with Dragon and her daughters in the lead, they congregated in front of the portal once more. On the other side, instead of slowly rusting rails and rolling stock, was an unspoiled wilderness. Flechette set out to walk around the portal; Sabah followed close behind. It was the oddest sensation, seeing a block of air and ground replaced by what must have been there before Brockton Bay was settled. Most bizarre was the fact that the distant horizon was the same in both views.

"So what's this world?" asked Faultline. "Why's it so valuable?"

Dragon smiled. "It's the world where Sanctuary was established."

"Sanctuary?" The mercenary seemed to lift her chin. "When that place was being set up, some people from the PRT approached my Crew. Asked them if they wanted to go there." Her voice held flat pride. "They said no."

"Well, it's just through there and about ten miles down the coast," Dragon told her. "If they wanted to visit once in a while, or something." She gestured. "Or, for instance, if anyone else wanted to get away from the rat race, settle someplace new. Sanctuary controls quite a bit of land, but there's a whole world through there. Whoever controls this portal, whoever owns the land it's on, could make quite a bit of money, entirely legally."

That got Faultline's attention. Her tone hardened with suspicion. "Who _does_ own it?"

"We do. That is, you and me." Dragon gestured at herself, then at the black-clad mercenary. "I took the liberty of purchasing a large area of the Trainyards, centred on this spot. Your name is on the deed as half owner."

"What? Why?"

Dragon smiled. "Consider it my payment to you to help protect my investment. Now, if you _don't_ want the job, you can just say so and I'll take full responsibility for its protection, and one hundred percent of the profits. But if you do …" She let the words trail off.

"I'm going to need to see full documentation."

"Already being couriered to your headquarters."

"And the option to get rid of my half at any time."

"Only to someone I approve of," Dragon countered "However, that also applies to me. The only ones I'm allowed to gift my half to is you, Pandora, Theresa or Armsmaster. Family, you see. You can pass on your half to me or anyone in your Crew, but no outsiders. Anyone else, we have to ask permission first. Fair?"

"Hm. Yes. Fair." Faultline paused. "Does Armsmaster even_ know_ about this?"

Dragon took the _non sequitur_ in her stride. "Not yet."

"Okay, why here? Why in the Trainyards?"

"Because _trains," _Parian interjected. It was so clear to her.

"Exactly." Dragon's voice was approving. "They're proven technology. Long-distance transportation. Sure, you have to lay the track, but once that's done, there's no cheaper way to get bulk freight from one place to another. For Sanctuary, we might even go back to steam. Low tech, easily maintained."

"So the Wild West rides again." Faultline's voice was sarcastic.

"If you want to call it that." Dragon smiled. "It _is_ a new frontier, after all."

Flechette leaned close to Parian. "You know what? I think we just saw the world change. Again."

Parian didn't answer. She just took Flechette's hand and squeezed it.

* * *

**The Hebert Apartment  
Saturday Night, June 25, 2011**

* * *

Danny ladled out the fragrant-smelling food on to each plate. "I hope nobody minds Chinese," he said cheerfully.

"No, no," Theo assured him. "I actually like it."

Beside him, Kayden looked dubiously at the food. "I haven't had any in … well, in a long time," she confessed.

"Trust me, it's good." Theo smiled at her. "I'm glad you could make it up here."

"I'm glad I could make it." She looked around at the others. "And I'd like to thank you all for being so kind to Theo. For helping him fit in."

"He saved my life," Amy pointed out. "And Vicky's. Even though she wasn't too appreciative at the time."

Riley looked up from where she'd been tickling Aster's nose. "Your boy was all kinds of badass right then, Mrs R. One minute Zion's 'all your base are belong to me' and the next he was _outta_ there."

Theo flushed under the massed approving gazes. "Yeah, well," he muttered, "anyone would've done it in my place."

"But it wasn't anyone else, was it?" Gladys had been quiet, but now she spoke up. "It was you. You saw what had to be done, and you did it."

Taylor put her arm around her former teacher and squeezed her shoulders. "Yeah. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. Mike taught me that."

Danny cleared his throat. "Speaking of Mike. There's another reason I asked you all here tonight. I know there's been about a dozen different memorial services for the man, but I thought it might be good for us to do something of our own. Just say a few words."

Kayden nodded. "I think this is a good idea. I attended the one in New York, but they didn't _know_ him. Didn't know who he was. What he was like. What he did for me and Theo and Aster."

"I'll go last," Gladys said softly. "Who wants to go first?"

Silence fell over the room, broken only by Aster's gurgling. Gradually, it seemed that everyone's gaze was drifting on to Taylor. She looked from one face to another, then finally rolled her eyes. "Okay, _fine_. I'll go first. I suppose I should, because he helped me out first and all. You could've warned me that I'd need to make a speech."

"No speeches necessary," Danny noted with a grin. "Just a few words, is all. To remember him by."

Taylor nodded. "Okay then. When I met him, he was just a security guard. But he _saved_ me. Took a really sh-uh, crappy day and turned into something pretty good. Turned a crappy _week_ into a really good one. Whenever I needed support, he was there. I guess because he knew ahead of time. But still, he cared enough to do it."

She paused, thinking. "The first word I ever heard him say was 'Security'. Wait, no. I think I actually ran into him in the hall, earlier. But I don't recall him saying anything then. Anyway, the last thing we were doing before Zion attacked was … well, he gave me that poster of Shadow Stalker tied up in Christmas lights." She smiled at the memory. "But yeah, that was him all over. He _cared."_ She choked up on the last word. Danny put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. Amy got up and hugged her from behind.

"Thanks, Taylor," Danny said, a catch to his voice as well. "Who's next?"

Amy took a deep breath. "I guess that's me," she said, taking her seat once more. "I haven't got much to say."

" … she said, three hours later," murmured Riley.

"Shush, you. Not your turn," Amy admonished her. "First time I met Mike, he walked into the bank just before it was robbed, and walked out with me. Then I got to see Weaver owning the bank robbers like a boss. But Mike didn't stop there. He told me that I needed therapy. _Proved_ to me that I needed therapy. Put me on to Mrs Yamada. Told me what might happen if I didn't. So I went."

She stopped to take a drink from her glass. "I got really annoyed with him sometimes. He was just so … bossy. But now, looking back, I can see what he was doing, and why. How much I needed someone to show me where I was going wrong. If I had to do it again, I'd thank him every step of the way." She put her hand on Taylor's shoulder. "And of course, he introduced me to my awesome bestie, who's now my sister."

The scattered applause made her turn slightly pink, but she looked pleased with herself all the same.

"Thank you, Amy." Danny looked around at the rest of the table. "Who's next?"

Riley sat up a little. "Okay, I'll go. Um, you all know where I was before Mike decided to interfere with my life. He sent Eidolon after me and told him to bring me back alive. I was in a pretty bad place right then. But then he came to see me. Even though he didn't know for sure that I didn't have something that might kill him. Even though every time he left, they had to disinfect him down to the skin."

"I remember that bit," Theo agreed. "That was no fun."

"Yeah, well, it was worse _in_ the cell," she retorted. "But this isn't about me. It's about Mike. He always visited. He brought board games. He talked. He _listened._ He treated me like a _person, _not like a monster. At the start, he was the only one who acted like I had a chance to be a normal human being again. When Bakuda shoved that bomb in his neck, he chose _me_ to get it out, along with Dragon. And when the Director shut me down afterward, he came down and apologised. To _me."_

She paused, apparently searching for words. "If it wasn't for him, I'd still be Bonesaw. I'd still be someone that I really don't like. And I know that I've done bad things. I'll be paying for that the rest of my life. But now I've got a chance to do just that."

Taking a deep breath, she looked around. "Yeah. That's it." There was more applause as she leaned back in her chair. "Oh. One more thing. Theo, I'd like to thank you for inviting me here. You're all really cool."

"Thank you, Riley." Kayden took up the thread. "When the PRT took down Coil, Mike was the only one who knew that Coil was making preparations to unmask us all. He warned me, and I took Theo and Aster to Boston. As it happened, it didn't help much, but at least Theo was with Aster when they were taken. So when he triggered, he got Aster back for me. But my point is that Mike _tried._ He knew how much I care for Aster. And then he put in a good word for me so that Legend agreed to give me a chance in New York. He even visited to make sure that I was getting along all right."

She put her hand on Theo's shoulder. "What he's done for me and my children, I can never repay."

Theo cleared his throat. "Yeah. What she said," he mumbled. He went to stop talking, but Danny made 'keep going' gestures.

"Um, okay, all I can say is that he encouraged me," he went on. "He visited the Wards and talked to me about stuff. Told Taylor some stuff about my powers that she passed on to me. It works." Drawing a deep breath, he lifted his chin. "I'd like to say that when that thing with Zion happened, I asked myself 'what would Mike do?' and did that."

A pause. "Well, I'd _like_ to say it. It'd sound a lot cooler. But it wasn't like that. I just did it because I was pretty sure it was all I _could_ do. But if Mike hadn't encouraged me, told me that I could be a real hero, I probably would've been too scared to try. But I did it, it worked."

"Thank you, Theo. I suppose that leaves me." Danny took a deep breath. "Michael Allen came into our lives unexpectedly. I didn't know what to think of this security guard who stepped up and _on his first day_ did what the entire faculty of Winslow had failed to do for the last eighteen months. He helped Taylor out, and in doing so, helped me out. Because I had no idea how to address her problems. Thanks to him, my daughter is now attending a good school, has good friends, and has already saved the world once. Not bad for someone who only turned sixteen two weeks ago."

Amid laughter, he held up his bottle of beer. "Michael Allen, wherever you are, you're a good man. Thank you." Everyone else held up their drinks as well.

After a moment of silence, Danny turned to Gladys. "I think you're up."

"I think you're right." She drew a deep breath. "I didn't know what to think about Michael when I first met him either. He was just a security guard. Principal Blackwell didn't seem to like him. When he came to me later about catching the girls in the act of their prank, I nearly turned him down. So many times I had tried to talk to someone about the pranks I saw happening, but every time it came to nothing. So I stopped trying. And then here was someone who wanted to try. So I thought, okay. Let's see what happens."

"Did you know about the voice recorders?" That was Taylor.

Gladys shook her head. "I did not." A smile stole across her face. "Their expressions when they realised that he'd trapped them … it was rather worth it. That was one of the better days I had at Winslow. And I kept seeing him around, and so I rather surprised myself when I asked him if he wanted to get coffee sometime. Things progressed, and we began seeing one another. I suppose that part of what attracted me to him was that he knew about life, but he wasn't cynical, or willing to look the other way. He wanted to do the right thing. It was only gradually that I learned that he was much more than an ordinary security guard, but by then I didn't care about that. I cared about _him."_

Taylor captured her hand and squeezed it; Gladys squeezed back. "When I found out the whole truth, including the part about him being due to die, I was angry and hurt. He had kept so much from me. But even then, he was so … _Mike_. He didn't push, didn't make excuses. Gave me my space to decide what I wanted to do. So I chose to stay with him. And I will never regret that."

"Thank you, Gladys," said Danny. "That was nice. Thanks for sharing."

"No, thank _you."_ She smiled at him. "I think I needed to say all that. Get it off my chest."

"So how are things at Winslow now?" asked Taylor. "It's not too weird now, being Mike's, uh, ex?"

"No, it's fine," she replied. "I haven't actually been back since that night. Yesterday, I handed in my formal resignation."

"Um, what are you going to do?" asked Amy. "Where will you go?"

"Well, while I was at Sanctuary, I was talking to Paige," Gladys revealed. "And she told me that there are children there, and quite a few of the adults are forming relationships and some of them might even be able to have kids. Also, quite a few of them who are there right now are lacking in basic education, so …"

"Wait, you're going to be a teacher _there?"_ Danny looked impressed.

Gladys shrugged. "That's the plan. I've approached the PRT about it, and they haven't said no yet."

"Well, I hope it turns out okay for you," Kayden said. "I know a little about what it's like to uproot your life and go someplace new. It can be daunting, but also very rewarding."

"Well, we'll come and visit you when we can," Taylor assured Gladys. Amy nodded in agreement.

"I think that would be very nice," Gladys told them. "But in the meantime, I think our Chinese food is getting cold."

"Well, we can't have _that,"_ Danny agreed.

As they dug in, Gladys turned to Amy. "So how's the therapy going, anyway?"

"Oh, really good," the biokinetic assured her. "Once Vicky started coming, and convinced Mark and then Carol to come, we got a lot of stuff out in the open. It helped that Mike left notes for Mrs Yamada about Carol's real issues. And she's helping Vicky with _her_ issues, too. So we're making a whole lot of progress."

"She's making progress with me too, I think," Riley announced. "Theo can tell you how much of a mess I was in after … well, after it happened. But she came by, and we talked a lot, and I let a lot of stuff out, and I feel better for it." She looked toward Gladys. "He told me about you, you know."

"I know." Gladys smiled. "He told me about you, too. You know, he always intended to bring me by sometime and introduce us?"

"Yeah, he said something about that. You like board games?"

"I've been known to play them from time to time, in my youth." Gladys' voice was a little amused. "It's been a while. You'd probably beat me quite a lot. But yes, I'd be happy to play."

Riley smiled. "That would be _awesome."_

"Hey hey hey," Theo warned them. "If there's board games, I'm in too. Okay?"

"Sounds like a plan." Riley's smile widened as she began to eat once more.

No more talk was forthcoming as everyone else applied themselves to the Chinese food as well. It turned out that Kayden did rather like it, after all.

* * *

**PRT HQ, Brockton Bay  
Director Piggot's Office  
Thursday, June 30, 2011**

* * *

Flanked by armed guards, Bakuda stood before Director Piggot's desk. She was once more wearing the gas mask and costume that she had sported as a villain. However, she was also looking extremely rumpled.

"What's this about?" she demanded in her trademark mechanical monotone. "I was doing _nothing_, and your goons dragged me in here."

Emily Piggot clasped her hands on the desk in front of her. "You were preparing to start your criminal activities again." The observation was mild, even neutral. _The sky is blue. Water is wet. You were going to break the agreement._

"No, I wasn't."

Piggot smiled thinly; her grey eyes bored into the Tinker. "I disagree. But let's not get into that. I have a proposition for you. The PRT will pay you a rather exorbitant sum for one of your devices." She paused. "You _are_ aware that you don't actually make bombs, yes?"

"Uh, yes. I actually do." Bakuda didn't know where this was going.

"No. You actually don't. What you make is wide-area effect devices."

"Like I said, bombs."

The Director snorted. "A 'bomb' is something that blows up, possibly with shrapnel involved. What you make is far beyond a simple 'bomb'. A device that creates a stable bubble of slowed time is _not_ a bomb. Nor is something that turns everything in a given area to glass."

"I blow stuff up. I blew a _planet_ up, remember?"

"I don't think anyone is ever going to forget that." The Director eyed Bakuda directly. "Wide area affects _can_ involve force, after all. But they don't have to. In any case, we're digressing. I need one of your flesh-dissolver devices. Something that's guaranteed to break down every piece of organic matter in, say, a one mile radius."

Behind the darkened lenses of her gas mask, Bakuda blinked. "Seriously, what is it with you good guys? These days, it seems that every second request of yours is something that would get me Birdcaged if I decided to build it on my own."

"Yes. It would." Piggot's gaze did not waver. "So can you build it or not?"

"Well, of _course_ I can build it. You gonna tell me where you're gonna use it?"

Piggot merely smiled.

* * *

**Brockton Bay PRT HQ  
Director Piggot's Office  
Saturday, July 2, 2011**

* * *

"Enter."

Emily Piggot looked up from the latest round of paperwork as the twelve-year-old who had to be perhaps her most controversial prisoner entered her office. As per regulations, a guard accompanied the child. Riley ignored the man and planted herself in the chair that sat before Piggot's desk.

The Director put down her pen and turned her gaze on to Riley. The child did not fidget or become uncomfortable at the scrutiny, as many Wards had before her; Emily reminded herself that Riley had spent years in the company of psychotic mass murderers. For quite some time, the girl had _been _a psychotic mass murderer.

"You asked to see me," the Director said, when Riley seemed unwilling to open the conversation. "Why?"

Riley raised her chin. "I want to leave Brockton Bay."

Piggot frowned. "This is almost certainly a bad idea. If you are recognised, people may take it very badly that you are walking around free. Your name has been taken off the kill-order list, but I can't guarantee that everyone knows that. Or cares, for that matter."

The girl waited for her to finish with an expression of polite interest. "Plus, you really don't want me out of your sight, where I might revert to my old ways, yeah?"

Emily frowned slightly. "That is also a concern, yes. I understand that you have formed strong bonds with several people in Brockton Bay, both in and out of the Wards, and I would like to encourage that. Moving away will be a step backward, in that regard."

"Oh, I'd be going with one of my friends," Riley told her brightly. "Mike's girlfriend Gladys is moving to Sanctuary. I want to go with her. She said to ask you."

The Director was a little taken aback. "You want to move to _Sanctuary?"_

"Well, yeah," Riley said. "I wouldn't think anyone knows me there, and I figure they could probably do with a doctor at some point. And my power doesn't care _what_ shape someone is."

Emily leaned back in her chair, rubbing her lips. "And it would get you out from under my thumb."

Riley's expression was the very picture of innocence. "Maybe?"

"Hmph." Piggot frowned, but her mind was already ticking over, bringing up the positive angles. It would get Riley out of Brockton Bay, and out of the hair of the PRT. Her behaviour _had_ been exemplary for quite some time, if one discounted the Perdition incident.

"I'll think about it," she decided at last. "When does she leave?"

"Next week," Riley said. "Friday."

Piggot nodded. "I'll have an answer for you by then."

But she was already reasonably certain of what it was going to be.

* * *

**On Patrol  
Brockton Bay  
Thursday, July 14, 2011**

* * *

"We might have trouble."

Golem and Tenebrae looked at Taylor. It was the taller one who spoke first. "What sort of trouble?"

"Empire trouble." She gestured at the corner ahead. "A car just stopped about halfway down the block. Three people got out. One's covered in metal, one's got a cage around her head, and one's got a metal mask on. No shirt, long hair. The car's waiting, engine running."

"Kaiser, Cricket and Hookwolf." Theo's voice held certainty.

"They fit the bill," she agreed. "Tenebrae, thoughts?"

"Thought number one, we call for backup." He pulled the phone from the pouch on his belt. However, when he pressed the speed-dial, it beeped mournfully at him. "Son of a _bitch."_

"What?" Golem's voice was tense.

"No signal. It's a total blank."

"Here, let me check." Taylor pulled her own Wards-issue phone out. Seconds later, it echoed Tenebrae's. "Crap. The towers must be down or something." _And I don't have vox-bugs near anybody who can call for help. Damn it._

"Thought number two, we just turn and walk away." Brian looked at the other two. "They've obviously planned this one out. We don't want to walk into an ambush. Plus, three Wards up against three senior members of the Empire? We've got every excuse to duck out on this."

Taylor looked at him. "Two Wards and one should-be Protectorate member," she corrected. He couldn't very well deny it; his eighteenth birthday party had been _epic._

He shook his head. "Still, not good odds."

"No." It was Golem. They both looked at him.

"What?" asked Tenebrae.

"If I know Kaiser, he'll have made sure that we can't just walk away. No matter where we go, no matter what we try, we'll end up in front of him anyway. So we don't do it on his terms. We do it on _ours."_

"What, are you saying we just walk up to him?" Taylor was dubious. "Is that what you're saying?"

Theo nodded. "That's _exactly_ what I'm saying. He'll be expecting us to try to evade, to wriggle on the hook. He _wants_ us to wear ourselves out trying to get away."

"But if we just march up to him, bold as brass …" Tenebrae rubbed his chin. "It could still backfire. Even with my darkness, Cricket nearly took me down last time. And that was just _her,_ with the two of you helping."

"I talked to Mike about that." Taylor felt she was justified in being just a little smug. "He gave me a few pointers. And I had an idea that this sort of thing might happen. So I've been making preparations."

They both looked at her. This time, Golem was the first to speak. "Really?"

Behind her mask, Taylor grinned. "Really."

* * *

"Ten bucks says they run for it." Hookwolf's voice was idle.

Cricket held a buzzer to her throat. _"Twenty says they leave Theo and __**then **__run for it."_

"Hush." Kaiser didn't put much force behind the words, but the other two quieted. He had spent far too much time setting up this situation to have his subordinates spoil it by making side bets.

The three Wards had been under subtle observation since they started out on their nightly patrol. All the cell towers that could cover the area had been taken down five minutes ago. Other crises had been engineered across town so that nobody else would inconveniently blunder on the scene. Best of all, that interfering busybody Michael Allen was no longer in the picture; Kaiser would not have put it past the man to stroll past at just the wrong moment and ruin everything.

The three Wards turned the corner. As he watched, they began walking toward where Kaiser waited with Hookwolf and Cricket. Golem led the way, the other two flanking him.

"Well, damn," muttered Hookwolf. "Looks like your kid grew a set."

Kaiser found himself wondering if the ex-cage fighter had a point. Theo's head was up, his stride was confident. The skinny form of Weaver and the darkness-oozing Tenebrae matched him step for step.

Cricket put the buzzer to her throat again. _"Where's bug girl's bugs?"_

That was also a point. Kaiser didn't look around, but he formed grilles inside his armour so that the larger type of stinging bug would find it very hard to get to him. "Keep an eye out for her swarm."

Not that he had much of a worry in that situation; he was almost impervious, while Hookwolf could armour up at a moment's notice. Cricket also seemed unconcerned, so he put the matter from his mind.

Golem came to a stop about five yards away from Kaiser. "Kaiser. Did you want something?"

Inside his armour, Max raised an eyebrow. The boy _had_ grown a pair. "Hello, Theo. You're looking well."

"You know the unwritten rules, Kaiser. No outing capes." Despite his words, Theo didn't seem to be unduly put out.

"You know full well that it's already been done to me," Kaiser shot back. "I'm no longer bound by that particular rule."

"That's not how it works, and you know it." Tenebrae's voice was deep and echoing, possibly due to the darkness still rolling off of him.

Cricket took a step forward. _"Shut your mouth, __**Grue**__, or I'll shut it for you."_

Tenebrae mirrored her move. "Any time."

Before either Kaiser or Golem could speak, the two came together. Blows were exchanged, fast and deadly. Kaiser had warned Cricket against using her blades, but they weren't needed in this situation; within a few seconds, Tenebrae was rolling on the ground, courtesy of a kick to the solar plexus. It was plainly obvious that Cricket had the edge on him.

Slowly, the villain-turned-Ward climbed to his feet. Cricket held her ground. _"You want more, just say the word."_

Tenebrae drew a deep and obviously painful breath, and straightened up, his hands going to the small of his back. Then he turned to the other two. "You guys got them?"

Golem nodded. "Kaiser's mine."

"Which makes Hookwolf mine." Oddly, despite being seriously overmatched, Weaver did not seem perturbed, even when the burly Hookwolf snarled at her.

Kaiser cleared his throat hastily. "Before we do something that you three will _definitely _regret, let's talk."

"Why bother talking?" Hookwolf was impatient. "Junior heroes wanna get the shit kicked outta them, let's oblige."

"Fine, let's talk." Theo raised his chin. "What did you want to say?"

_Finally._ "You've spent enough time playing hero, Theo." Max deliberately used his son's name again. "It's time you embraced your heritage. You're an _Anders._ It's a name to be proud of."

"Not as far as I can see." Theo's voice was flat. "And I'm not 'playing' hero. I'm _being_ a hero. Every time I go out and help someone, I make the world a little bit better. Can you say the same?"

Max sighed. "Fine. I tried to do it the easy way. Let's step things up a little. You come with me now, willingly, or both of your companions will end up very badly hurt."

Theo's lips tightened. "Same old Kaiser. You just can't lose, can you? You have to win, no matter what."

"Yes. I do. So what's your answer?"

Theo's reply was delivered in a dead flat tone of voice. "You can walk away now, or you can surrender to us. There is no third choice."

The sheer audacity of it momentarily stunned Kaiser. He simply couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Hookwolf burst out laughing. "Holy shit, Kaiser, that's what I call big brass ones!"

_And the first thing I will be doing is curtailing that particular attitude._ "So I see. Well, I reject both of your choices." Raising his hands, he gestured both Hookwolf and Cricket forward. "It's time you saw where empty bravado gets you."

Tenebrae was more cautious this time; he circled around Cricket as she advanced on him. Confident of victory, she was almost casual about it, in no hurry to close with him.

As Weaver backed away from Hookwolf, the big man chuckled behind his wolfs-head mask. "This is gonna be _fun."_ However, in the next second, a colourful waterfall descended from above; Hookwolf found himself surrounded by fluttering butterflies.

"Fuck me," marvelled the tattooed cape. "You're attacking me with _butterflies._ What are they gonna do, _cute_ me to death?" He waved away the ones that would have landed on his face, so that he could still see his opponent. Others landed all over him; he didn't bother with them.

Weaver kept backing away; Hookwolf advanced on her. "Is that it? No bees? No hornets?"

She shook her head. "Don't need 'em."

"What th -" Abruptly, Hookwolf began to brush the butterflies away. "Fuck, they're _stinging_ me! Since when do butterflies sting?" Metal slid out of his skin, covering his body, mangling those few 'butterflies' left on him, but it was too late. He took one more step then fell on his face. The wolfs-head mask came off and skidded a short distance.

Weaver dusted her hands off; the butterflies began to orbit her in a cheerfully menacing cloud. "Since right now. Tenebrae?"

Kaiser's disbelieving gaze snapped from Weaver and the prone Hookwolf to where Tenebrae was facing off Cricket. She started to move toward him, just as he brought his up his right hand. Kaiser now saw that the black-clad hero was holding something flat against his forearm. _He pulled it from the back of his belt, before._

Flipping the compressed-air screamer into his palm, Tenebrae pressed the button on the canister, hitting Cricket with a blast of extremely high-pressure noise. The effect was immediate; she reeled, disoriented, unable to get her bearings. Even as the echoes died away, Tenebrae moved in fast. A kick to the kneecap, a knee in the stomach and an elbow to the back of her neck were delivered with all the power that Tenebrae's husky frame could muster. Cricket crumpled to the ground.

Max curled his lip; metal spikes shot up from the ground all around Weaver and Tenebrae. In seconds, two cages had formed, imprisoning each of the Wards. "Checkmate," he told his son. "My people are down, but they'll get up. _Your_ comrades are my prisoners. Go ahead and attack me with your concrete hands; whatever you can make, I can break. I've got decades of experience on you. You _can't_ win."

"On the contrary," Golem told him. "You've already lost." He reached for a panel on his belt. Just one finger pushed into it; with a creaking noise, Max found his sight cut off. He tried to reach for his face, but the joints of his armour would not move. "What the -"

"You encased yourself in _steel_ before coming to face me." Theo's voice sounded as though the boy was walking around him. There was a faint grinding noise; he wasn't sure what it was. "To me, that's not armour. That's a _weapon._ I can do _this -" _Another creaking noise, and something pressed on the back of his neck. "Or _this -"_ A painful lump grew under the sole of his foot. "Or even this." Fingers pressed on his throat, just hard enough to be uncomfortable. "Now, I could do that with a knife. Do you want me to do that with a knife?"

For the first time, Max Anders realised exactly how serious, and how dangerous, his son was. He also recognised that tone; it was one that he himself had used from time to time. The circumstances in which he had used the tone also came back to him, and he swallowed with some difficulty.

"The first wound you inflict, I kill your companions -"

"They're already out of the cages." A smashing blow to his face; he felt his nose break. Blood ran down his chin, and trickled down the back of his throat. "But that's for even suggesting it."

"You can't kill me. That would be murder." He hated the nasal tone of voice, but the inside of his armour was compressing his broken nose.

"I felt in fear of my life. You're a known murderer. Pretty sure they'd let me claim self-defence and defence of others. Particularly given that it's true. So. Do you surrender?"

Max tried one last gambit, to cause the armour to retract and fall off of him. This would open him to other attacks, but Theo would no longer be able to use the metal against him. But it wouldn't go. He tried again. Stubbornly, it stayed where it was.

"Ten seconds before your armour becomes an Iron Maiden." He identified, without too much difficulty, the sound of a blade being withdrawn from its sheath. _I cannot die here, in this way._

Defeat was bitter in his mouth. "I surrender." The only bright spot in all of this, as dim as it might be, was that it was _Theo_ who had taken him down, and not some other Ward. _He's a true Anders, all right. He just proved it._

* * *

Theo walked away from his father; the once-sleek armour was covered in replicas of Theo's hands where they had grown out of one part of the metal and grasped another. To complete the capture, concrete hands had grown from the pavement and taken hold of Kaiser's ankles.

He took a deep breath, then another, as if trying to flush a bad taste from his lungs. Weaver joined him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." He looked her in the eyes, or at least in the blank yellow goggles that she wore as part of her costume. "It was kind of scary, talking like that. Like I really meant it."

"The trick is, mean it at the time," Tenebrae advised him. "People like that can tell if you're gonna flinch. Don't let them think that you will."

"But I punched him in the _nose."_ Theo shuddered. "I've never even … well, okay, yeah, I've tried to punch you guys in the nose, but that's in training, and I've only actually landed a few hits. But he was helpless and he never saw it coming."

Tenebrae shrugged. "Doesn't make it _wrong._ If he thinks you're willing to go to town on him, he'll be less likely to cause trouble before the PRT gets here."

"Speaking of which, I've _finally_ gotten a vox-bug and a spy-bug in to talk to Dad," Taylor announced. "He's calling the PRT as we speak."

"Oh, good," Theo said in relief. "I had visions of us pooling our pocket change to go find a payphone."

"Got enough change, and the nearest payphone's a block that way," Weaver told him promptly, pointing.

Theo blinked in surprise. "How … oh, your bugs. And of course you keep quarters on you. You keep _everything_ back there, don't you?" He nodded toward the spade-shaped compartment on her back.

"Well … I _try." _Weaver's voice was casual, but he thought that she sounded pleased.

"Gonna check on Hookwolf and Cricket." Tenebrae moved in that direction.

_I'll never get a better chance. _"Uh, Weaver?"

"Yeah?"

"Once we're off duty … well, would you like to go see a movie or something with me?" Confronting Kaiser and his super-powered henchmen had been scary enough. This was far beyond even that.

"What." Her voice was flat.

To his horror, he heard himself start to babble. "Well, I've felt this way about you for a while, but Mike told me to wait till after the war was over, and now it's over, and I didn't want to wait too long in case you meet someone else, so -"

"Wait." Her voice cut him off. "So you're asking me on a … a _date_, is that it?"

"Uh … yes?"

"Hm." She regarded him inscrutably for a few moments. "Sure. Why not? It might be fun."

Relief spread through him like a cold drink on a hot day. "Cool. Friday night?"

A nod. "Sure, I'm not doing anything else. Meet you at seven?"

The smile spread across his face, as unstoppable as the tide. "It's a date."

Tenebrae returned from his self-appointed task. "Cricket's still secure. Hookwolf's still out. What did you hit him with?"

Taylor sounded smug. "A variation on the Ali bug, carrying a mix of batrachotoxin and ketamine."

Theo blinked. Taylor had mentioned batrachotoxin before and of course he knew what ketamine was. The Ali bug, however … "One of Amy's creations?"

"Yup. Can't _wait_ to tell her how well this one worked out."

"You kicked Hookwolf's ass with butterflies." Tenebrae's voice was impressed. "He's _never_ gonna live that down."

"Hell yes." Taylor held out her fist; Theo bumped it. "We _rock."_

* * *

**Ellisburg  
Sunday Morning, July 17, 2011**

* * *

The pull-out began shortly after midnight. No lights were used; soldiers wearing night-sight gear climbed carefully into the backs of trucks, which rumbled away in low gear. Oddest of all were the soldiers standing at spaced intervals with decibel meters; if they held up a hand, everyone froze.

Slowly, increment by increment, the forces around the Ellisburg wall fell back. The PRT troops had been carefully briefed; if one incautious sound or light aroused the suspicions of Nilbog, then it could get very bad indeed.

Hours passed; tempers frayed. Equipment broke down and had to be left behind. A truck stalled; rather than make a noise restarting it, they pushed it into the ditch and started walking. Everyone knew the penalty for being left behind in the danger zone, so they moved with a purpose. They couldn't march, due to the distinctive sound made by many boots hitting the ground at once, so they simply walked. Conversation was not allowed for the same reason; one voice might go unnoticed, but a hundred voices would create a murmur of sound that might reach the ears of Nilbog's creatures.

Slowly, in fits and starts, the area around the Ellisburg wall was cleared of all human life.

* * *

Director Emily Piggot of PRT ENE paced back and forth, listening to the desultory radio chatter. Even that was heavily encrypted, on the off-chance that a surviving radio existed within Ellisburg. "What's taking them?" she muttered. "Too much longer, it'll be morning."

The command post had been set up four miles away from Ellisburg, in a small town called Mannsville. It had taken _weeks_ to get permission to put this mission into action, and days more to evacuate all of the towns within a certain radius of Nilbog's domain. Piggot itched to go in there and chivvy them along herself, but she knew that she could not. _I have subordinates to do that for me._

Time crawled along; she drank another cup of the hot, bitter brew that masqueraded as coffee. Going outside for a moment, she stared toward the east, imagining that she could see a lightening in the sky. _That would be a disaster._

One of her officers stepped outside. "Director," he murmured. "We just got word. Half an hour."

"You're certain." Her voice was flat. "Three hours ago, it was 'one hour'."

"I'm certain. Or at least, they are."

Her lips tightened. "Contact McGuire. I want wheels up in ten."

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am." He hustled back inside.

* * *

Two hundred and sixty-five miles away, there was no need for stealth. Harsh lights illuminated the single fighter-bomber that sat on the apron. Orders were shouted and obeyed. Loud beeping heralded the approach of the low-slung bomb-truck that held the ordnance due to be attached to the aircraft. It was a perfectly ordinary bomb case; the difference lay within.

Motors whined as the bomb was lifted and secured to the warplane. A sergeant-specialist opened an access plate and plugged in a keypad; one digit at a time, he entered the authorisation code. After he disconnected the keypad and secured the access plate, the attachment points were double-checked. Finally, the metal safety-pins with their orange tags were pulled; the bomb was now live.

Responding to more shouted commands, the aircrew cleared the area around the fighter-bomber; in the cockpit, the pilot began to spool up the engines. Slowly, the aircraft began to move, off the concrete apron and on to the runway proper. Under the direction of the tower, the sleek war machine turned until its pitot boom was aligned precisely down the centreline of the runway. Brakes were applied, and the throttles were opened; the aircraft canted forward slightly, as the thrust from the rear overcame the resistance of the landing gear suspension.

A single command crackled in the pilot's headset. He released the brakes. Impelled by thousands of foot-pounds of thrust, the massive machine lunged down the runway like a predator pursuing its prey, and with much the same aim. Less than half the runway had whipped by before the nosewheel lifted from the tarmac; a moment later, the rear wheels had done the same, and the craft was transformed from a clumsy ground vehicle into a sleek, agile bird of prey. The undercarriage motored up into the fuselage as the fighter-bomber turned in a long banking arc that put it on a heading of three hundred and forty-seven degrees. Afterburners kicked in, accelerating the plane toward the speed of sound.

It would reach Ellisburg in a little under twenty minutes.

* * *

**0443 Hours**

* * *

Piggot was back inside, trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the uncomfortable chair, when one of her officers raised a finger to catch her attention. "Yes?"

"Raven One-One is inbound, Director."

She nodded and fitted the headset over her ears. "What's the channel?"

"Six five three, ma'am."

"Thank you." She entered the appropriate numbers, then listened for a moment. "Raven One-One, this is Beacon Actual, how copy, over?"

The reply was a little scratchy, but she could hear him well enough. _"Beacon Actual, this is Raven One-One. I copy you five by four, over."_

"Raven One-One, do you have your waypoints, over?"

"_Affirmative, Beacon Actual. Seven waypoints, I say again, seven waypoints programmed in and double-checked, over."_

She let out the tiniest sigh of relief. This had been her own personal security measure; if any number but seven had been given, she would have known that the mission was compromised. "I copy seven waypoints, Raven. State ETA, over."

"_I make ETA fifteen minutes thirty at … mark, over."_

Piggot's eyes flicked to the digital display on her desk. As she watched, it ticked over to 04:43. _So, just before five. Christ, we're cutting it close._ "I copy fifteen thirty, Raven. Beacon Actual will be acting as offset aimpoint, with a radio beacon set to one zero five zero kilohertz. Target will be at a distance of three point niner two miles from Beacon Actual, bearing two niner one degrees. Do you copy, over?"

"_Raven One-One copies offset aimpoint, one zero five zero kilo hotel, three niner two mike, heading of two niner one, over."_

"Roger, Raven One-One. Good hunting. Beacon Actual out." She pulled off the headset and dropped it on the desk; leaning back in the chair, she breathed deeply of the slightly stale air within the command post. "Is the radio beacon set up?" She knew it was, but she wanted to be sure.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Turn it on. Report to me when it's operating correctly." _I'll make this work if I have to get on the roof with a flashlight._

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

* * *

**0451 Hours**

* * *

It had taken some cajolery, but the FAA had reluctantly agreed to clear the airlane between New Hanover Township and Ellisburg for just that morning. No aircraft were permitted to cross that airspace between five thousand and fifteen thousand feet, between the hours of midnight and six AM. Fortunately, no large cities lay on that track, or it may have been a little more difficult.

Raven One-One came scorching down the centre of the cleared airspace at an altitude of six thousand five hundred feet above sea level. At just before oh-five-hundred hourse, there was a distinct lightening in the eastern sky, especially at that elevation, but lights were still showing in the small towns, below. About now, night shift workers would be coming home, while early risers greeted the upcoming sunrise. None of them knew of the parcel of death travelling by, just a mile over their heads, until the trailing sonic boom caught up with them; even then, they had no idea what it signified. Neither would they, until much later.

* * *

**0455 Hours**

* * *

"Ma'am, the forward observers are getting movement at the top of the wall."

Piggot snatched up the headset and dragged it on over her head. "This is Beacon Actual. Speak to me."

"_Ma'am, this is Watchdog Three-Two. I have four … no, make that five, Nilbog creatures on top of the wall, northwest side. They do not seem to be agitated as yet, over."_

"_Watchdog Two-Four here, ma'am. I have three on the east side as well. They are definitely looking toward where our emplacements were, over."_

Her eyes flicked toward the clock. _Come on, come on._ She took her finger off the transmit button. "Contact Raven One-One. Get his position, now." Pressing the button again, she kept talking. "All Watchdog units, all Watchdog units. Report if any creatures start coming down the _outside_ of the wall, over."

An officer tapped her on the shoulder. She lifted one earpiece away so that she could hear what he was saying. "He reports that he's on final approach, ma'am. Two minutes."

She dropped the earpiece back into place. "All Watchdog units, this is Beacon Actual. Fall back. Repeat, fall back. Acknowledge, over."

One by one, draggingly slow, the Watchdog units reported in. Several reported creatures starting to venture down the outside of the wall, but it was too late for them. _Surely_ it was too late.

Throwing the headset to the desk once more, she headed for the door. Pushing it open, she could see the first streaks of dawn in the sky. It was beautiful, but she had no eyes for it. Instead, she searched the sky to the southwest.

And then she saw it; a tiny shining star, travelling from south to north, far faster than any bird could move.

* * *

"_This is Raven One-One. Requesting final drop authorisation. Authenticate Bravo Delta Delta, over."_

"This is Beacon One. Authenticating Kilo Foxtrot November, over."

"_I copy Kilo Foxtrot November." _There was a long pause. _"Ordnance away. I say again, ordnance away, over."_

* * *

Something was badly wrong. Nilbog could feel it. His multitudinous creatures sniffed the air and milled around. The braver ones had reached the top of the wall, where they saw that the men and machines that had hemmed them in for the last decade were gone.

Even in his twisted ideas of reality, Jamie Rinke knew that the PRT would not simply pull back for no good reason. He ordered the smartest, the bravest, the fastest to go and scout out the enemy positions. If they were truly gone, if this was not some elaborate ambush, then it would be time for Nilbog's kingdom to expand.

Only the quickest-witted among his creatures saw the aircraft, painted bright by the sun's earliest rays, passing overhead. It was there and gone before they could even react. But something had fallen from it, something that even now was dropping toward Nilbog's domain. Parachutes were deploying, slowing it. It would land precisely in the centre of what had once been called Ellisburg.

Nilbog's eyes opened wide. "They dare!" the meat-puppet bellowed. "Go forth! Attack! Attack them all! _Kill_ them all!" Its head tilted back, the gross mouth gaped open, and a cloud of brown spores belched forth. The wind caught them, and they began to spread out.

The sonic boom rolled over the town a moment later. In contrast, the explosion made barely any sound at all.

* * *

One of the forward observers had set up a camera; in the strengthening light, Emily saw the field expanding outward, a fragile-seeming soap-bubble effect, from which the dawnlight refracted rainbows. It passed the wall and kept going.

In their transports, the field observers planted pedal to metal. There was no need for stealth now; powerful engines bellowed loud as the armoured fighting vehicles accelerated directly away from Ellisburg. Behind them, the pursuing monsters bellowed almost as loudly, until the field effect caught up with them.

Ever outward it expanded, growing more and more attenuated, until finally it popped out of existence. Beyond its radius, the field observers did not slow down; within the circle of effect, not a living thing stirred. Even the deadly plague spores were now harmless, inert dust on the wind.

Deep underground, Jamie Rinke died without ever knowing what killed him.

* * *

"_This is Beacon Actual. Report."_

The forward observer picked up the microphone and stood up in the hatch of the AFV. Peering back toward Ellisburg through binoculars, he saw the trees and waving grass end abruptly, beyond which was a barren landscape populated by a grey ashy powder and blackened stumps. It was as though a wildfire had roared through, but there was no smell of smoke, no heat.

"This is Watchdog Three-Two," he replied. "The field has ceased expanding. I repeat, there is no more expansion. Everything within the boundary is … dead. Ash. I can see no movement. Repeat, no movement." He refocused the binoculars on the distant walls of Ellisburg. Dark smears decorated them, courtesy of the creatures that had been descending when the bomb went off. Nothing living looked like that.

* * *

"_Everything's dead, over."_

Emily Piggot felt a smile stretch her face; a feeling of relief spread throughout her chest. "Thank you, Watchdog. Keep a close lookout. Report anything unusual. Beacon Actual, out."

She switched channels. "Beacon Actual to Raven One-One. Mission success. I say again, mission success, over."

_"This is Raven One-One. I copy mission success. Returning to base. Raven One-One, out."_

Turning to the officers in the command post, she nodded once. "Prep the investigation teams. I want to be absolutely _certain._ But in the meantime … good job. It looks like we pulled it off."

As the cheers and congratulations arose, she dropped the headset on the desk and walked outside.

_I got you at last, you bastard. I finished the job._

Inhaling the crisp morning air, she admired the dawn. It really was quite magnificent.

* * *

**PRT HQ, Brockton Bay  
Wards Base  
Sunday, September 26, 2011**

* * *

"_But I've dealt with worse. If it comes down to it, if this is all I have to worry about, I can maybe deal. I could maybe learn to be okay."  
_"_I think that's all any of us can hope for," her father said._

Slowly, Lisa put down the reader. She reached for another tissue, but found that the box was empty. A quick search located a full box in her desk drawer; she blew her nose noisily, then used another one to wipe her eyes. Getting up, she headed out into the main area.

* * *

"I'll take two," Taylor told Missy, discarding that number of cards. Two cards came her way, landing precisely in front of her with the assistance of a little space-bending. Picking them up, Taylor slotted them into her hand. She now had three fours. _Not bad, but not great, either._

"I'll take one," Browbeat requested. _Whoops, he might have something good._ She resisted the temptation to send a few bugs around to try to read the stocky Ward's cards; the game was just supposed to be a fun distraction.

"Hey, Lisa," Missy said, looking over Taylor's shoulder. "Wow, your eyes are really bloodshot. Have you been crying? What's wrong?"

Taylor turned to look, just as Lisa hugged her. The hug astonished her, as the blonde rarely went in for that level of physical contact with _anyone._ "Whoa … wow … are you okay?" Wriggling her arms free, she patted Lisa on the back awkwardly. "What's the matter?"

Slowly, Lisa let her go. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I … just got a bit emotional."

"And so you should be sorry," Theo told her as he crossed the room to hitch his butt up on to the corner of the table. Reaching down, he captured Taylor's hand. "Only one who's allowed to give Taylor surprise hugs is me. Isn't that right?"

"That's right," Taylor said with a grin as she got up. "But seriously, Lisa, what's up?"

Lisa shook her head. "It's just … I was thinking about Mike, and I decided I needed a hug. And you were closest to him, so …"

"Oh. Oh, wow. Come here." Taylor enfolded her friend and fellow Ward in a hug of her own; Lisa returned it. "If you want to talk about it any time, you come talk to me, okay?" Taylor rested her forehead against Lisa's.

The blonde smiled wanly. "Okay."

"And if I see you moping around the place, I'll bug you till you tell me what's wrong." Taylor deliberately paused; she was not disappointed, as the groans started a few seconds later.

"Oh, god, Taylor," Missy objected. "Not _another_ bug pun. It's almost as bad as Clockblocker before he graduated to the Protectorate."

"Thank you, thank you, I'm here all week." Taylor grinned and seated herself on the edge of the table next to Theo. "So, Lisa, you all right? Want to play?"

"Not poker," Missy said flatly. "She'll clean us out every time."

"So we go with a luck based one," Taylor replied. "Lisa?"

Lisa's smile was a little wider this time. "Sure. I don't need my powers to beat you, anyway."

"Ooh, is that a challenge I hear?" asked Missy gleefully.

"And what if it is?"

Missy grinned. _"Bring_ it."

* * *

Epilogue One  
To Be Concluded


	54. Chapter 54

**Security!**

* * *

Epilogue One (continued)

* * *

**Part Four: One Year Later**

* * *

**Sanctuary  
Monday, June 11, 2012**

* * *

"What _I_ don't get is why the train station isn't closer to the town," groused Aisha, kicking at pebbles. "Why do we gotta walk?"

"Because they wanted it that way," Brian told her.

"That's not an answer," she shot back.

Danny cleared his throat from where he was walking with Taylor on one side and Amy on the other. Each of them was carrying an overnight bag. "They didn't want the train going right by the town, with all the noise and pollution that entails. Also, gawkers. Plus, having to walk half a mile from the train stop discourages casual visitors."

"It's sure as fuck discouraging _me," _Aisha complained. "Why are we coming here, anyway?"

"Because Taylor and Theo asked me to come along," Brian told her. "And I wasn't going to leave you in Brockton Bay unsupervised."

He turned to walk on; she made a rude gesture at his back. Taylor grinned at her. "Come on," she encouraged the younger girl. "It's not that far now."

"I could carry you," offered Theo. "If you wanted." Hearing this, Amy smirked.

"What, really? You'd do that?" Aisha eyed him suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

Lisa stopped alongside Taylor to watch the show; her green eyes glinted mischievously. "The catch is that he'd carry you over his shoulder. And then find a mud puddle or something to dump you into."

Aisha stared at Theo, who tried to look innocent. "You wouldn't. Would you?"

"Uh, yeah, he would," Amy told her.

"Definitely," Taylor added. "You haven't seen him taking down the bad guys. He's _ruthless."_ But her eyes twinkled as she put her arm through Theo's. "You know, he actually asked me out on our first date while we were out on patrol? He'd just captured _Kaiser._ So what could I say?"

"You guys talk too much." Rachel was standing at the edge of the road, looking out at the landscape. Beside her, the three dogs sniffed at the air and whined softly.

"Rachel, are you -" Brian only got that far before she stepped off the road, the dogs following. "Where are you going? The town's that way."

She didn't bother turning her head. "Looking to see what's there. I'll be in later. If I feel like it."

At a steady trot, she started off into the trees, the dogs following at her heels. Taylor fancied that she could already see them growing in size.

"Arrgh. Why does this always happen?" Brian rubbed at his scalp with his fingertips. "Where's she going now? Why does she _do_ this?"

"Didn't you see the look on her face?" asked Lisa. "Seriously? This is probably the first time she and her dogs have ever had the chance to get out and run in the woods, just for fun. I wouldn't be surprised if she comes back here on a regular occasion, now."

Danny nodded. "I have to agree with Lisa. It fits with everything I've been told about her."

As they resumed the walk, Brian turned to Taylor. "So why did you want to come to Sanctuary for Vee-Zee Day, anyway? Why not just have it back in Brockton Bay?"

"Because it's my birthday," she told him patiently. "And I've got friends in Sanctuary. Plus, it's special. It's where I was when he died. I miss him."

"Who are you talking about?" piped up Aisha impudently. "Mike or Zion?" She ducked as Brian went to cuff her lightly on the back of the head.

"Mike," Taylor replied shortly. "I shot Zion myself, and my only regret is that there weren't more bullets in the gun."

Brian blinked. "I'd heard the stories. I didn't know _that_ one was true."

"Believe it," Danny said. "I was there."

Aisha whistled softly. _"Badass."_

"You better believe that, too," Theo told her. He put his arm around Taylor's shoulders, having to reach up slightly to do it; she leaned into him.

Amy stepped up alongside Danny and grinned. "Hey, Aisha."

"What?"

"What do you call a magical time-travelling dinosaur?"

Danny was already chuckling as Aisha frowned. "Uh … Steve?"

Amy grinned. "Nope. The Wonderful Lizard of Was."

"Holy shit," Aisha exclaimed. "That's got to be the single worst joke I've ever heard. I _love_ it."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Dad. You've infected her. The plague is spreading."

Theo shook his head. "Aisha, that sort of joke is not to be remembered. That sort of joke needs to be taken out back and shot."

"And then buried in a shallow grave," added Brian. "Amy, that was _terrible._ You shouldn't encourage her."

"Too late." Aisha made a rude gesture at him, then danced behind Lisa. "I'm gonna tell that joke to _every one_ of your girlfriends."

"Hey, leave me out of this," Lisa told her. "I thought the joke was terrible, too."

"No, it was _great,"_ Aisha said. "Got any more, Amy?"

"Uh, no?" From the look on her face, Amy had decided that denial was the better option.

"Come onn …" Aisha urged her. "You gotta have _something."_

Danny came to Amy's rescue. "She got that one from me. I have others."

"Ooh, tell-me-tell-me-tell-me." Aisha turned toward him, eyes bright.

Brian leaned in toward Taylor. "Are you sure he knows what he's doing?"

She grinned. "Do you hear her complaining?" she murmured back.

"Okay then," said Danny. "A bear walks into a bar …"

* * *

As they entered the outskirts of Sanctuary, three people moved together to bar their way. It was easy to tell that they were true Sanctuary citizens; one had purple skin and no eyes, the second was a woman whose limbs and body were actually disconnected from one another, and the third had skin with the same texture and colour as charcoal. They weren't armed, but Taylor figured they probably didn't need to be.

"Names," the purple man stated. "And your business in Sanctuary." He paused, looking at Taylor. "Wait, I know you. You're Gladys' friend Taylor. You shot Zion."

"That's right," Taylor replied. "This is my father, Danny, and my sister Amy."

The charcoal man looked at Danny. "I remember you too now. You were here when it happened."

Danny nodded. "That's me. Sorry, I don't remember you."

The disjointed woman nodded. "That's okay. You're good to go in. These people are with you?"

Taylor nodded. "They are. And we've got one more. A girl with dogs. Her name's Rachel."

"Where is she?" asked the purple man.

"No idea," Taylor confessed. "But she'll be back. She was just taking the dogs for a run."

"We'll keep an eye out for her," the purple man said. "Gladys would be just finishing the day's classes, if you were looking for her."

Taylor raised her head slightly. "If I recall correctly the school is … that way?" She pointed.

The three Case 53s looked impressed in their various ways. "Good guess," the purple man told her. "That, or you used your bugs to find it."

"You got me." Taylor grinned. "I did kinda cheat, yeah."

"We all do," the eyeless man agreed. "I'm guessing you're here for the anniversary?"

"We are," Danny confirmed. "We decided we wanted to spend it among people who _really_ knew what it meant."

"I can understand that," said the disjointed woman. "Well, have a nice day." The impromptu greeting party stepped aside, allowing them to move on.

"Keep an eye out, hah." Taylor's head jerked around. For a moment, she wondered who the girl walking with them was, then memory returned. _Aisha. Brian's sister. Can make you forget her._

"Aisha," growled Brian. "Not the time _or_ the place."

"But he's _got – _mmph!" One of Brian's brawny arms had wrapped around her head, his hand over her mouth.

"_Not_ the time or the _place."_ He repeated it, more intensely. "I brought you along so that you could relax and unwind. So that _I_ could relax and unwind. Not so that you could antagonise everyone you met."

Aisha mimed something; gradually, he loosened his grip.

"Chillax, bro," she told him. "I didn't say it where they could _hear_ me."

"Um, you do realise that this _is_ a community of people with powers, right?" Theo pointed out diffidently. "Any one of them could have the power to listen in on what we're saying, and we'd never know it."

"He's right," Brian pointed out. "Apart from Taylor and Danny, the people living here are the last ones who saw Mike alive. This is the last place he stopped off at before he did what he had to do. That makes this place special. So let's have some respect, okay?"

Aisha wrinkled her nose. "You're no fun."

* * *

The schoolhouse was relatively easy to pick out; it was a large, low-set building with windows along its length. It was one of the few buildings that was entirely prefabricated; most of the others incorporated local materials in their construction.

As they got closer, the doors opened and a horde of children, from early teen and upwards, poured out. Were it not for the fact that no two looked alike, and few looked truly human, it could have been a scene from anywhere in small-town America.

Aisha looked startled as the children thronged past; a few stopped and stared at them, but most just kept going. "You never said there were kids my age here," she said accusingly.

"We did actually say 'school' several times," Brian pointed out.

"I never listen to you," she retorted. "You _know_ that!"

Taylor chuckled. "She's got you there."

"Excuse me." It was the oldest of the children from the school; Taylor thought he might be fifteen or sixteen. With his dark-grey skin and red eyes, however, it was hard to tell. "Who are you? You're not from Sanctuary."

"No sh-" began Aisha, but Brian was ready for her this time; his hand slapped over her mouth before she had a chance to say anything else.

"No, we're not," Taylor replied. "My name's Weaver. You might remember me. I'm a friend of your teacher's."

"Weaver? Really?" The children looked at one another, then back at Taylor. "Prove it. Do something with bugs."

There were, of course, insects aplenty in this world; Taylor had been gathering a swarm as they walked. She caused a squadron of flies to buzz past, followed by a bunch of bees and then three hornets. These circled around the children, then back to orbit her head. Some didn't make it back; one of the younger children darted out a three-foot tongue and snapped a dozen of the flies out of the air.

"Okay, you're Weaver," the grey-skinned boy conceded. He held out his hand. "I'm Ray. Welcome to Sanctuary."

"Thanks, Ray. I'm glad to be here." Solemnly, Taylor shook it.

The kid with the tongue pushed forward; Taylor decided that he looked more like a lizard than a frog, for all that his skin was a normal healthy pink. "Did you really shoot Zion with a big gun?"

Taylor nodded. "Yeah."

"My dad says you cried afterward." That was Ray.

"I did." Taylor folded her arms. Almost automatically, Theo put his arm around her; she leaned into him. "Mike was special to me. Like a really cool uncle. The type who shows you how to do stuff your parents won't let you do. And Zion killed him. So I helped kill Zion."

Gravely, the boy nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. Miss Gladys told us how Michael was the one who made Cauldron let us go."

"My mom says that if anyone ever threatens Sanctuary, he'll come back to protect us," piped up a girl who couldn't be older than thirteen. Water seemed to flow over and around her in a never-ending stream so that wherever she walked, she left puddles.

Taylor realised that the talk of 'mom' and 'dad' must be due to the older adults informally adopting the children into their homes, forming family groups on the fly. She wondered how it was working out for them.

"I, uh, don't think it works that way," she began, then paused. _Mike __**did**__ say that he was an extradimensional being. He might just be able to do that, after all._

"Well, it _might,"_ Theo suggested diplomatically as the girl's lip began to quiver. "But it's best to depend on yourselves first, yeah?"

"Excuse me, what's going on out here?" The voice was very familiar. Taylor turned. Gladys stood on the schoolhouse porch with another familiar figure beside her. "Who are – Taylor?"

Taylor felt a grin spreading across her face. "Mrs Knott? Riley?"

Gladys shook her head with a smile. "I'm just Gladys, here, remember? Even in school, I'm 'Miss Gladys'. How have you been? You look well." She descended the steps with the blonde at her side.

"Thanks. Wow. You look so different."

Gladys smiled uncertainly. "In a good way, I hope?"

"Well, yeah." And it was true. Gladys' long blonde hair had been braided and then wound around her head. She looked a little more muscular, somewhat more tanned, and her cheekbones were a bit more prominent. The knuckles on one hand were skinned, and two nails were broken, but she looked … serene. At peace with herself.

"Thank you." She smiled at Taylor. "Goodness, you've grown, even since I last saw you. And this is … Theo, isn't it?"

Theo nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We met at the dinner, at Taylor's place."

"I remember. You've done well for yourself, I see. Lost some weight?"

"And gained some more muscle." Brian poked Theo in the ribs, then offered his hand. "We haven't met, but Taylor's told me all about you. Brian Laborn. This is my bratty little sister, Aisha."

"Hi, Aisha. I'm Riley." The blonde teenager stepped up to Aisha and stuck out her hand.

"Riley, huh?" Aisha eyed her suspiciously. "Didn't you use to be a supervillain or something?"

"Aisha …" Brian's tone was ominous.

Riley made a throwaway gesture. "It's okay. Yeah, I was."

"Hey, I'm cool with that," Aisha said cheerfully. "So was my big bro. You'd never know it now. He's a superhero now. Totally lost all his cool factor. So anyway, what's to do around here that's fun?"

"One sec." Riley turned to Amy. "Big sis. It's _so_ good to see you." She then proceeded to wrap the startled biokinetic in a hug.

Startled, Amy chuckled. "It's good to see you too, Riley." She held the younger girl at arms' length and looked her over. "You've definitely grown a bit. And you're so _tanned."_ Her fingers trailed through the shoulder-length fringe of Riley's hair. "And you cut your hair, too?"

"It kept getting in the way," Riley explained airily. "So, you found yourself a girlfriend yet?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "No. And I'm not looking. There'll be plenty of time for that sort of thing later."

"Pfft. First it's 'later' then it's 'too late'." Riley grabbed her hand. "There's some girls I could introduce you to around here, if you're interested."

Amy looked around, a little panicky. "Taylor, some help?"

Taylor grinned. "I seem to recall someone trying to set me up with Chris, once upon a time," she said cheerfully.

"But that was _funny."_ Amy tried to extract her hand from Riley's grip; somehow, despite being stronger than the blonde, she didn't seem to be able to do it.

"And so is this." Taylor stepped away from Theo and gave her best friend and sister a hug. "Go on. Meet new people. At least here, you'll know that they like you for _you_."

"Um …" Amy turned to Danny. "Dad?" Her tone wavered between 'help me out of this' and 'can I go do this'.

Danny paused, undecided. "Gladys?"

"She'll be safe." Gladys bent a stern eye on Riley. "Won't she?"

"Oh, sure," Riley agreed. "I'll make sure of that. Wanna come with, Aisha?"

Aisha grinned. "Boo-yah." She turned back to Brian. "I thought this'd be no fun at all. Looks like I was wrong."

Together, along with the other children, they bore Amy away in triumph. After one last look over her shoulder, which Taylor wasn't quite able to decipher, Amy disappeared around a corner in the middle of the chattering horde.

Danny leaned close to Taylor. "You'll be keeping an eye on her, of course."

She grinned in reply. "Well, duh."

"That was a little mean of you, wasn't it?" asked Brian dubiously. "Abandoning her like that?"

Lisa grinned. "Are you kidding me? She wanted to go, but she didn't want to seem _eager_ to go."

"Huh." Brian rubbed the back of his head. "I guess I didn't know girls as well as I thought I did."

Danny chuckled. "Trust me, son, if you didn't know that by now, you would've learned it soon enough."

Taylor nodded to Brian. "Anyway, if she didn't want to go, do you really think that they'd be able to drag her _anywhere?"_

"You know, you could've gone with her," Theo offered. "I don't know much about girls, but I do know that sometimes you like to get together, no guys allowed. I can deal."

Taylor shook her head. "Thanks, sweetie, but I think it's a better idea for her to meet new people without me there to make her second-guess herself."

Theo frowned. "Second-guess?"

"Yeah." Taylor captured his arm. "Remember when you first asked me out? If Amy had been there, I don't know if I would've said yes. I might have felt that I was being disloyal to my friendship to her, no matter how silly it seemed. Same thing."

Gladys nodded. "I can understand that. In any case, Riley will also be making sure she's okay." She indicated a direction; Taylor figured out that it was toward the river. "Sveta should be coming in with the boats now. I like to go down and meet her. Want to come along?"

Taylor looked at the others. Nobody seemed averse to the idea. "Sure."

* * *

As they neared the bluff, Lisa touched Taylor's arm and fell back slightly. Taking the hint, Taylor slowed her pace a little as well. Theo glanced at her, and she gave him a quick tilt of the head and a glance at where Danny and Brian were chatting with Gladys. _I'm fine; go on ahead._

He took the hint; as he moved up, Lisa gave Taylor a very fox-like grin. "You've got him well trained."

"We understand each other," Taylor corrected her. "You might have noticed, we also practise nonverbal signals for use in combat."

"Well, true," agreed Lisa. "Not that I get into combat much. But all joking aside, you two do kind of go well together. He's a nice guy."

"He is," Taylor said. "He's really attentive, and he doesn't back down from anything. I kinda like that in a guy."

"Yeah." Lisa's voice was contemplative. "It's just a bit funny. I kinda thought that it would be you and Brian, if it was anyone."

Taylor tilted her head. "Well, he _is_ kinda my type, but I get more of a big-brother vibe off of him, you know? Anyway, Mike told me a few details about how it would've gone with him, and I'm a lot more comfortable with what I've got with Theo." She grinned. "Besides, the way Theo took down his dad impressed me, a lot."

"Plus, he's been working on building muscle as well," Lisa pointed out mischievously.

Taylor's look of innocence needed work. "And there's that too, yes." She turned her head to look at Lisa as they started down the broad stairway leading to the bottom of the bluff. "So is my boyfriend all you wanted to talk about?"

"Actually, no. There's a question I've been meaning to ask." Lisa took a deep breath. "Do you consider me to be a good friend?"

Taylor blinked, taken somewhat by surprise. "Uh, sure? I like you. We get along reasonably well. Mike said that in the original timeline, we would've ended up best friends, so there's that too."

"But this time around, you didn't need my help as much."

"Well, no, because Mike helped me out, and then I met Amy," Taylor agreed. "But I still see you as a pretty good friend. I'm definitely glad that we're on the same team."

"Me too," Lisa said. She didn't say any more, but her thoughts were busy. Since finishing the story, with her power filling in the gaps where Mike had had to condense it for brevity, she had found herself brooding over what had happened to Taylor; or rather, what _would_ have happened. _No wonder she turned out so harsh in the story, with all that happened to her. I think I like this Taylor a lot better, even if she's still a little terrifying when she has to be._

"Wow, will you look at that." Taylor's voice broke into Lisa's thoughts. There, sailing in twos and threes up the river toward a couple of sturdy piers jutting into the current, were a dozen fishing boats. With their sails spread to catch the onshore breeze, they made a stirring sight.

"Fishing boats. Wow." Lisa jumped down the last few steps; a moment later, Taylor landed beside her. "That's kind of impressive. Low-tech, but impressive."

"Especially considering that a year ago, Sveta was the only one who knew how to sail a boat or use nets or lines to catch fish in bulk," Gladys pointed out in reply to Lisa's comment. "Now we've got a fleet, and she's training more all the time. And some of the people she's trained are training others, too."

Several other people were waiting down at the shoreline; a few turned at Gladys' voice. One was a tall, broad man who didn't seem to show any sign of being a Case 53, while the woman beside him was petite, with pastel yellow hair intermixed with feathers of the same hue, and was heavily pregnant.

"Taylor!" called out the woman. "It's good to see you."

She turned and began to make her way up the slope toward them, but Taylor waved her back. "Stay there. We'll come to you."

"Wait a minute," Brian said. "That's Canary, right?"

"Her name's Paige," Taylor told him with mock severity. "She's left 'Canary' behind."

The two groups came together; Paige greeted Taylor with familiarity, but other introductions had to be put on hold because the boats were coming in to dock. Each had a respectable haul of fish, some quite large; the first boat to come alongside was sitting the lowest in the water.

From it jumped an energetic figure, comprised of a metallic skeleton animated by dozens of pale yellow tendrils; in the 'head' of the figure was a surprisingly human-looking face. She shouted orders which were briskly obeyed by her crewmembers, even while she doubled a rope around one of the posts of the pier and tied it off.

"Sveta!" called out Gladys. "Surprise for you!"

Sveta turned and looked, and her face lit up with delight. With a quick aside to one of the other sailors, she strode down the length of the pier. "Taylor!" she exclaimed happily. "Are you here for the anniversary?"

"Yeah," Taylor answered. "Sveta, you remember my dad?"

"Of course," the Case 53 answered. "It's good to see you again, Danny." She looked at the rest of the group. "And you brought friends."

"Yeah. I don't think you've met Theo." She hugged her boyfriend's arm to her side.

"It's nice to meet you, Theo." The twinkle in Sveta's eye indicated that she had picked up on Taylor's nonverbal signal. "And who's _this_ tall hunk of man?"

Lisa fought to hold back her giggles as Brian blinked at Sveta's flirtatious tone. "That's Brian. I'm Lisa. We're Taylor's teammates."

Sveta smiled broadly. "Well, any friend of Taylor's is a friend of mine. Welcome to Sanctuary." She glanced around. "Does anyone know where Riley is? One of the trainees hurt himself."

"Oh, no," exclaimed Gladys. "Is it bad?"

"Not serious." Sveta shook her head wearily. "Young idiot thought that being able to breathe water made him a natural sailor. Grabbed a line as it was paying out and took all the skin off of his palm. We've got it bandaged, but I'd really prefer Riley to have a look at it."

"I can contact her," Taylor offered. "She's with Amy and Aisha, introducing them around."

Sveta frowned. "Amy … oh, Panacea?" She nodded toward Taylor. "I should have known she'd be here. You two are good friends, aren't you?"

Taylor smiled. "Amy's my sister now, actually. We adopted her."

"Oh, congratulations." Sveta's face lit up; she stepped forward and hugged Taylor. "Talking about that, did Gladys tell you that we've sort of adopted Riley between us?"

Danny turned to Gladys. "No, you didn't. How's that working out for you?"

"Rather well, actually." Gladys nodded slowly. "She really needed a parental figure, or two. Sometimes I need to hold her before she can get to sleep."

"I got Riley's attention," Taylor told them. "She's on her way."

"Oh, good," Sveta said. "Thanks for that." She smiled again. "It really is good to see you."

"It's great to see you too," Taylor agreed. "You look happy."

"Oh, I am, I am." Sveta's tone was definitive. "I _belong."_

* * *

The house that Gladys shared with Sveta was surrounded on three sides by a vegetable garden, with flowers at the front. Other dwellings had much the same arrangement. They were constructed with a mix of prefabricated components and local materials; this was mainly stone, with a little wood here and there.

Theo paused, looking around at the rows of houses. "I'm impressed," he admitted. "This must have taken a lot of work to get set up."

"You forget, we've nearly all got powers of one sort or another," Paige reminded him. "Mine might not be good for manual labour, but it's amazing how much people enjoy hearing a song while they work."

"Plus, we brought in some construction equipment right at the beginning," Joe added. "Got the heavy lifting over and done with early on." He helped Paige settle herself on to a comfortable seat on the large porch, then sat down beside her. "I'm pretty sure that helped my standing in the community. Otherwise I'd just be the token normal."

"Yeah," Paige told him, "but even if you were, you'd be _my_ token normal."

Theo sat down with his back up against a post; Taylor settled herself so that she was leaning back against him. His arms naturally went around her, and she laced her fingers through his. "I like it here," she decided. "It's nice and quiet."

"I think so too," Gladys replied, emerging from the house with a tray. On it were several glasses and a large pitcher of juice. "Lemonade, anyone? Home squeezed. I know it's kind of a cliché, but it's very nice."

Taylor accepted a glass and raised it to Lisa, who was sitting opposite her. Lisa grinned. "You look _so_ domestic, right now."

"Leave her alone," Brian chastised her idly. "She saved the world. She's got a right to be domestic."

"I wonder where Amy and Aisha have gotten to," Danny said. "Taylor?"

"And Rachel," Brian added. "She's been gone a while."

"Rachel's not in my range," Taylor told them, "but Amy's on her way back. Aisha's with her."

Lisa eyed her speculatively over the rim of the glass. There was something she wasn't saying; Lisa figured that it was about the two absent girls, but Taylor wasn't concerned, so she chose not to pry deeper. And besides, the lemonade was _delicious._

Sveta came out as well, minus her armature. She used her tendrils to support herself from the rafters, settling herself on a shelf by the chairs, which Lisa decided had to be purpose-built. Several tendrils snagged the glass that Gladys held up toward her. "Thanks," she said. "It was a good day out. The mackerel are running. This keeps up, we'll have plenty to tide us over the winter."

"Oh, excellent," Gladys replied. She addressed herself to the larger group as she went on. "We're trying our best to become self-sufficient, here. Currently, the powers that be on Earth Bet are benevolent, but we can't always count on that."

"Well, no," agreed Danny. "Politics can be a problem. The more you can export, the better."

"So what's been happening in Brockton Bay since I left?" asked the teacher. "We get newspapers, but I must confess, I don't have the urge to read them as much as I once did."

"Where do I start?" asked Danny. "The economy's up. Crime's down; ever since Kaiser was taken down, every wannabe crimelord that sticks his head up gets smacked down again, hard. And once the Boat Graveyard got taken away -"

Gladys sat up. "Wait, the Boat Graveyard got _taken away?_ By whom?"

"We're not totally sure," Taylor confessed. "But some people claim the Simurgh just showed up early one morning and just … picked it all up. If it was her, we have no idea what she's doing with it."

"Which opened the way for Lord's Port to be renovated and reopened," Danny went on. "So the Dockworkers are showing a lot of black on the balance sheet for once. Employment's up across the board."

"Which means that people have more money, which means they're spending it on more stuff, which means more shops are reopening, and so on," Brian filled in.

"Of course, it's not _all_ wine and roses," Lisa noted. "There's still crime, and criminals, and some of them are really hard to pin down. Politicians are still politicians, but there's more good than bad going on."

"Oh, Gladys, do you remember Sophia Hess?" Taylor was grinning now. Lisa grinned too; she knew what was coming.

"Uh, vaguely?" Gladys frowned. "Wasn't she one of the ones who -"

Taylor nodded. "That's her. She's also Shadow Stalker. You know, that vigilante who was in the Wards?"

"I seem to recall you telling me something of that sort," Gladys said. "She was the one who tried to murder Michael. Has she gotten out or something?"

"Nope." Taylor's grin was even wider, now. "I went and saw her a few weeks ago …"

* * *

**John H Sununu Youth Services Center  
Manchester, New Hampshire  
Sunday, May 27, 2012**

* * *

"Hess. You've got a visitor."

Sophia looked up at the guard, then came to her feet. "Visitor? Who?" _It can't be Emma. She's never visited me even once. Mom?_

"Cape. Name of Weaver." The female guard, blocky in her uniform, sounded supremely disinterested. "You want to go see her or not?"

"Yeah, I'll go see what she wants." Sophia tossed the magazine she had been reading on to her bunk, the movement made awkward by the heavy cuffs she had to wear. Nobody shared her cell; this had been hard to achieve, but after Sophia had put two other inmates in the infirmary, and had visited there three times herself, it was deemed a bad idea to put her in with others.

The guard held her by the upper arm the whole way; a reasonable precaution, given that the cuffs were a heavy, if unwieldy, weapon. She was walked into one of the private rooms; Weaver was already there, seated at the other side of the metal table.

Sophia sat still as her cuffs were secured to the table. She could sit and stand, but she wasn't going anywhere apart from that. The table was, of course, fixed to the floor, as were the chairs on either side.

The bug controller's mask covered her face; Sophia had to admire the creepy aspect of not being able to see her eyes, and the mandibles were a nice touch as well.

"Do not pass anything to the prisoner, or accept anything from her," the guard droned. "Do not make physical contact with the prisoner. This exchange will be monitored via that camera there." She pointed, and Weaver twisted around in her chair to look at the camera dome back over her shoulder. "Do you understand this?"

"_Yes."_ Sophia heard Weaver speak for the first time. She couldn't see the bugs, but they were buzzing in time with the cape's voice, adding an extra layer of creepiness.

The guard moved back, leaving the room. Sophia heard the door shut behind her, but she didn't look. All of her attention was taken up by her visitor. But she was _damned_ if she was going to ask what this was all about.

Time stretched out. One by one, Sophia heard the bugs moving around; some buzzing, some humming. A few walked across the table in not-quite random patterns. She wondered what Weaver's reaction would be if she squashed some.

"You don't know why I'm here, do you?"

The voice was almost human, this time, with just an underlay of buzzing.

Sophia jerked her chin up. "Why don't you tell me?"

Weaver tilted her head. "Do you remember Michael Allen?"

Unconsciously, Sophia jerked at the cuffs; the restraint clanked loudly. "Yeah, I remember. That _asshole_ framed me for trying to murder him." It was the line she had decided on before the trial even started, and she had not wavered from it; sooner or later, she figured, someone might fall for it.

"Right." She got the impression that Weaver didn't much care. "Did you know he's dead?"

_And good riddance._ She was careful enough not to say it. "Heard something about that. Not much in the way of details, though."

Weaver's voice was flat; the buzzing had picked up again. "When Zion attacked, Mike deliberately made himself into a decoy. He drew Zion out until he was too badly injured to continue, then Zion killed him. But this provided enough of a distraction that I was able to take Zion out. Then Dragon finished the job."

Sophia's eyes opened wide. _"Fuck."_ She stared at the cape across the table. _"You_ took Zion out?"

There was no pride, no swagger, in Weaver's voice. "Yes."

"But why are you even telling me this?" Sophia shook her head. "So you killed Zion. That's kind of fucking impressive, but I don't know you and you don't know me. Unless you've come here to tell me that I'm your inspiration? Because I'll totally take that."

But Weaver was shaking her head. "You're not my inspiration, Sophia. Not in the way you're thinking."

"Then why the fuck are you even here? What do you want from me?"

Weaver stood up, and for a moment, Sophia thought she was going to leave. "I came here to show you something."

Sophia frowned. "You're not allowed to give me anything."

"I know, which is kind of a pity. There's a poster which would be a _perfect_ present for you. But this is almost as good. Are you ready?"

"Ready for _what?"_

Weaver didn't answer with words. Instead, she took hold of the back of her mask and pulled it over her head. _Fuck, she's unmasking herself to me. What the fuck?_

For a moment, Weaver stood, head down, hair hanging over her face – _wait, that hair looks familiar – _then she straightened up, putting a pair of glasses on as she did so. Taylor Hebert grinned at Sophia and gave her a little finger-wave. "Hi."

Sophia pushed herself back as hard as she could; the top of the chair-back dug painfully into her shoulder-blades. But she didn't care. Her eyes were wide open, her jaw dropping as she stared at the apparition before her. "No. No. No _fucking_ way."

Taylor nodded. "Yes fucking way, Sophia. You did your best to destroy me, and Mike and I _saved the fucking world."_ The satisfaction in her voice burned like acid in Sophia's ears.

Sophia shook her head. "No!" Her voice rose with every shout. "No! NO! It's not true! It can't be true! You're a fucking _wimp! _There's_ no fucking way!"_ She began to thrash around, jerking at the restraints holding her cuffs down.

* * *

Unhurriedly, Taylor removed her glasses and then pulled her mask back on. She was just settling it into place when the door opened and two guards hustled in. "Holy shit," one of them shouted over the noise of Sophia's escalating tantrum. "What the hell did you say to her?"

"Just caught her up on current events," she replied, the buzzing of her bugs helping to convey the sounds to the guards' ears. "I think she took it badly."

"No shit." The other guard gestured her back. "She needs some time in cooldown, I think. Stay back; we need to take care of this."

"Sure thing." Taylor stood back and watched. The two women attempted to hold Sophia down long enough to undo the restraints from the table. Then they called in two more guards. It took all four of them to wrestle her from the room; by that time, she wasn't even articulating words any more. It was just one long scream of frustrated rage.

* * *

**Sanctuary**

**Monday, June 11, 2012**

* * *

"... Goodness me," breathed Gladys, shaking her head slightly. "I really can't imagine hating someone that much."

"I don't think she hated _me,_ as a person," Taylor countered. "She barely _knew_ me. Emma is the one who knew me. Sophia just hated the idea that someone she considered to be weak or beneath notice could rise up and be better than her. Stronger than her."

"Weren't you taking a risk, though?" asked Sveta. "She could out you. Unmask you to everyone she speaks to."

"She _could,"_ agreed Taylor. "But I consider it to be an acceptable risk."

"Yeah," Theo put in over her shoulder. "What's she going to do, broadcast to the world that Weaver, the _extremely successful and popular_ hero, is actually the downtrodden wimp Taylor Hebert?"

"And if that happens, the PRT then releases the fact that Taylor's the one who popped Zion," added Lisa.

"In any case, if that outburst was anywhere near as violent as you say, she might just end up in an asylum," Sveta said hopefully. "That's where people like her belong."

Taylor relaxed back against Theo some more. "I'm pretty sure Mike's friend Contessa is keeping an eye on her, just in case."

"Contessa?" asked Danny. "I don't know that one."

"Not many people do." Taylor took another drink from her lemonade. "She likes it that way."

* * *

Amy wasn't sure if her feet were touching the ground. Logically, she knew they had to be, but the emotions within her said otherwise. She wanted to sing, to dance, to show the world how she felt. Hugging the gleeful feeling to herself, she glanced sideways at Riley.

The blonde was looking less than thrilled. Catching sight of Amy's grin, she rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you did that," she muttered.

"What?" Aisha, almost skipping on the other side of Amy, also seemed to be bubbling over; this time, with mischief. "What I did, or what she did?"

"Both." Riley stomped along as if she had a personal grudge against the ground. "That was highly irresponsible, Aisha, and you know it."

"Hey, irresponsibility is my middle name, or it woulda been if my mom knew how to spell it." Aisha airily waved aside Riley's mood. "It turned out okay, didn't it? Anyway, she didn't _have_ to do it."

Riley glowered. "You _dared_ her to do it."

"And she accepted. What's the problem?" The angrier Riley got, the more chirpy Aisha's mood became. "You're just pissed that you lost the bet."

"_I never thought she'd do it!"_

"And _that's_ what losing a bet feels like," Aisha informed her smugly.

* * *

"And here they are now," Taylor announced, just before the trio rounded the corner. "Hi, Amy. How'd it go?" She knew, of course, but Amy probably would not have been thrilled to find out that she was under surveillance.

"Oh, my," Gladys interjected at the same moment. "Riley, what's the matter?"

"_She's_ the matter," snapped Riley, pointing at Aisha. "She's got no sense of, of propriety."

"Oh, god," muttered Brian, coming to his feet. "Aisha, what did you do now?"

"Why does it have to be something that _I've_ done?" asked Aisha, the very picture of injured innocence.

"Because it usually is," Brian said flatly. "So what did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"It wasn't nothing, and you know it." Riley glowered at her.

"Oh, my god." Lisa was sitting up and staring at Amy. "You didn't."

Amy nodded vigorously. "I did."

Taylor and Danny frowned at the same time, with almost exactly the same expression. Danny got in first by a split second. "Did what, Amy?"

Amy hugged herself. "I kissed a girl!"

Taylor's eyes went wide. "You didn't!"

Amy nodded again, her hair bouncing wildly. "I did. I really did."

Danny cleared his throat. "You do realise, that as your father, I now have to ask embarrassing questions. Was this girl nice?"

Amy nodded wordlessly, turning pink.

"Do you think you want to see her again?"

More nodding. Amy got pinker.

"Do you think she wants to see you again?"

Once again, she nodded. "She said she'd find me at the party tonight."

"Hm." Danny rubbed his chin. "Well, that seems to be fairly harmless."

"She hasn't told you _why_ she kissed Nara!" Riley burst out.

Taylor stood up, then stepped down off the porch to Amy. "Okay. Why did you kiss this girl?"

Amy hung her head. "Because Aisha dared me to," she mumbled.

Brian put his hand over his eyes. _"Aisha,"_ he groaned.

"What?" protested Aisha. "I had to do _something._ Riley was gonna win the bet, otherwise."

Sveta and Gladys spoke at the same time. "What bet?"

Riley sighed in aggravation. "Aisha bet me that Amy was going to kiss one of the girls we introduced her to. I never thought she would. I mean, big sis is awesome in so many ways, but she's terminally shy. So I took her up on it. And then Aisha _dared_ her. And Amy _did _it!"

Lisa and Theo began laughing at the same time. Brian just shook his head and sat down again. Taylor, beginning to chuckle herself, hugged Amy tightly.

"Congratulations," she whispered into her sister's ear. "One more embarrassing question. Was it nice?"

Amy's only answer was an emphatic nod.

Taylor smiled. "Good."

* * *

**Sanctuary  
Monday, June 11, 2012  
Almost Midnight**

* * *

The bonfire roared loudly; someone threw another log on, and sparks roiled into the air. The night was warm, so everyone was sitting a little way back from the fire, except for those few who were resistant or impervious to the flames. The atmosphere was convivial; drinks of varying level of alcoholic content were making the rounds. Off to the side, tables held the remains of the food that had been set out earlier.

Several of the locals were playing musical instruments of various types; some looked normal, while others had obviously been made to suit strange body shapes. Paige was leading the singing, her gorgeous voice rising above all the others. Some of the songs were familiar to Taylor, while others were not. All, however, had easily learned choruses, and were fun to sing along to.

The seating consisted of stone or log seats. Theo had examined these earlier on, and then used his power to give each of them a proper back. All the same, he was once more acting as a backrest for Taylor. She rather enjoyed leaning back against him; with his arms around her, it gave her a comforting sense of belonging.

Next to them, Brian and Lisa were chatting with Danny and Gladys, while Sveta was off somewhere else. Amy was sitting nearby, with the Case 53 girl called Nara. Nara was about seventeen or eighteen and had blue scaly skin, while her hair had been replaced by odd flat tentacles. From what Taylor understood, she had the ability to generate a light static field over her body. Taylor couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but she suspected that there might be some hand-holding going on.

Riley had apparently gotten over her annoyance with Aisha, given that she and the dark-haired girl were in a huddle with a few of Riley's friends. They were giggling over something; Taylor wasn't sure she wanted to know what it was.

She lifted her glass of lemonade and took another drink. It really was very nice; she had never had anything quite like this back in Brockton Bay. "Hey," she murmured back over her shoulder.

"Hey," Theo replied.

"Comfy?"

"Definitely."

"Not squashing you?"

He snorted. "Like that's gonna happen."

"Thanks for coming along, by the way. I guess I kind of just assumed you'd want to come. I don't think I ever actually asked."

"Well, _duh,_ I wanted to come along," he retorted. "See where it all happened? I wasn't gonna pass that up. And Gladys is pretty cool, too."

"Mm." She leaned back and turned her head, giving him a light peck on the lips. "Still, thanks."

"What for?"

"Being you."

They settled down, his arms around her, her arms over his arms. It was warm and comfortable, and she felt loved and secure. In front of her, the bonfire roared and crackled; behind them, in the darkness, her bugs scouted and explored.

"Hm." She sat up slightly.

"What's up?" he asked, tensing.

"Nothing's wrong," she assured him. "Rachel's back."

Sitting up more, she turned to watch as Rachel entered the circle of firelight. The stocky girl stopped at the tables and picked out a few scraps to toss to her dogs. The animals, now once more normal sized, snapped these out of the air. Rachel took a bone that had once held a weight of ham, and gnawed upon it as she approached where Taylor sat.

Taylor waited till Rachel had plunked herself down on a log seat before turning to her. "Good run?"

"Mm," grunted Rachel. She tore more ham off with her teeth. "Saw tracks of some pretty big animals."

"Gladys says there's something like bison that get into their crops sometimes," Theo said.

"Big funny-looking cows?" Rachel took another bite of ham.

"Sounds about right," Taylor agreed.

"Bison gotta eat, too."

"Yeah, but before Sanctuary was settled, there wasn't much for them to eat here. They're coming here for the crops." Theo's voice was reasonable.

"Hm." Rachel tossed the bone to the dogs. "See what I can do." She eyed the glass of lemonade that Taylor held. "That any good?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Okay." Getting up, Rachel moved over to the table, found a pitcher, and poured herself a cup.

"So you're setting Rachel on the bison?" asked Taylor in a murmur. "What do you have against those poor innocent bison?"

Theo laughed, then turned it into a cough as Rachel glanced suspiciously their way. Taylor concealed her smile by taking another drink of lemonade.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Joe's voice rose over the noise of conversation and the crackling of the flames. Taylor realised that the music had stopped without her noticing it. "You all know what day it is. What happened a year ago."

Everyone was listening now; only the calls of night-hunting birds competed with the crackling bonfire. "Sanctuary was new, then. We were barely established. Since then, we've grown together as a community. I might not be exactly one of you -"

From out of the crowd, a voice called out, "Bullshit!"

He chuckled. "Well, okay. I did volunteer to be here, so I guess that's one in my favour. Anyway. It's midnight in a few minutes, and then it'll be exactly one year since we gave shelter to Weaver and Gladys and Danny. One year since Weaver shot Zion. One year since the war started and ended. One year since we beat that big golden bastard, once and for all."

As the cheers spontaneously arose, Taylor became aware of something odd moving through the town, a large bulky object being towed toward the bonfire on a large flatbed trolley. Sveta was doing the towing, but the trolley wasn't cooperating. She was about to go and give some assistance, when she realised that Joe was still talking.

"So anyway, Mike Allen couldn't be here …" He bowed his head for just a moment, and most of the audience, those with recognisable heads, did the same. "But we do have the other three who were here, including Weaver herself!"

"What?" she murmured. "Nobody told me …"

But Theo was already nudging her. "Go on," he whispered. "Get up there."

Reluctantly, she climbed to her feet, handing off her glass to Theo, and made her way through the crowd to where Joe stood on a makeshift podium. As she stepped up beside him, the crowd applauded once more. On an impulse, she brought a swarm of bugs down to stream through the firelight and out the other side. More clapping and cheers resulted.

"Uh, thank you," she called out. "I didn't have a speech prepared, so I'll just say thanks again, and I hope we all have a great night."

Before she could be roped into saying more, she stepped down off of the podium and back into the crowd. More applause followed her; several members of the crowd held up their hands for her to high-five.

Sveta hauled the flatbed trolley into the area before the bonfire; now that Taylor could see it clearly, she could tell that whatever was on the trolley had a sheet draped over it. However, she still couldn't figure out what was under the sheet, with the limited number of bugs under there.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," Joe continued, "it's midnight! It's Vee-Zee day! If you can, please stand."

Taylor hadn't yet sat down, so she stayed standing and turned to watch what was going on.

"Today," Joe said, "we honour those who fell so that we might live. And we honour those who did what had to be done. Everyone, fill your cups."

Taylor felt Theo nudging a cup into her hand; it was her glass of lemonade. "Thanks," she murmured.

"Everyone, a toast! To Michael Allen, who made the ultimate sacrifice!"

Taylor heard Michael's name being murmured over again, as she herself repeated it. As she took a sip of her drink, she recalled a comment by Gladys. It was the older woman's belief that, once the inhabitants of Sanctuary began to have children, a large number of them would be called 'Michael' or some derivative thereof. _Right now, I would not be surprised._

"To Weaver, who fired the shot!"

Taylor flushed as Theo and everyone around her deliberately turned to face her before raising their glasses.

"And to Dragon, who finished Zion off!"

This toast Taylor could make; she took a larger drink from her glass. But Joe wasn't finished. "And now, to commemorate this day, here's something that our very own Sveta has been working on for most of the year!" He gave Sveta a nod, and tendrils flowed out to grasp the sheet, whipping it off in one smooth movement.

It was a statue; Taylor could see that now. The statue was of her and of Mike Allen; she was in costume as Weaver, while he was in plain clothes. His hand was on her shoulder, as if giving encouragement and guidance. _As he did, so many times. _Tears pricked her eyes, to see his likeness standing there, the flickering firelight giving it the illusion of life.

As the applause arose, Gladys frowned. "He didn't want a statue," she said, just loudly enough for Taylor to hear. "He said so, in his will."

Taylor was just opening her mouth to ask _what will?_ when there was a tremendous crack and crash from overhead. Lightning lanced down from the clouds that had gathered unnoticed, striking the statue. The baked clay that made up the core of it flew apart, the pieces miraculously missing all and sundry. All that was left was the part that showed Taylor in costume.

"Well, crap," Riley remarked into the silence that followed. "He _said_ he'd find a way to tell us he was still alive."

* * *

**Sanctuary  
Tuesday Midday, June 12, 2012**

* * *

"You're leaving already? But you only got here yesterday." Gladys looked upset.

Danny shrugged. "I'm sorry. Believe me, I'm sorry. I'd love to stay even one more day. Or a week, or a month. But work will already be piling up for me, and Taylor and the others have their own responsibilities."

She sighed. "Okay, yes. I understand. But you will come back and visit, yes? And don't wait a year this time."

"I promise." He stepped up and hugged her. "Thank you for having us."

"Thank you for coming," she replied, returning the hug.

"I'll definitely come back when I can," Taylor assured her, then was treated to a hug of her own. "And I'll bring Theo again."

"Darn right you will," Theo agreed. "This was fun."

"Uh, Rachel said to say that she'd be hanging around for a few days," Lisa put in. "She said something about dealing with your bison problem."

"Oh." Gladys brightened. "Well, that's something anyway, I guess."

Still talking, they stepped out on to the porch, where Brian was chatting with Sveta. "Anyone seen Amy?" asked Danny.

"Gone to see Nara?" hazarded Brian. "Riley and Aisha are missing too."

Taylor focused on her bugs, spreading her awareness out. She'd brought a few relay bugs, and they were expanding her radius of capability quite nicely. "Found them."

Danny frowned. "Well, where are they?"

"On the way back here."

"Good." Danny checked his watch. "We've still got to make the walk to the train stop."

"It's okay, Dad, "Taylor assured him. "We'll make it. They're not far away."

* * *

When Amy did arrive, she brought with her not only Riley and Aisha, but also Nara. The blue-skinned girl smiled shyly and hung back a little, but Amy kept a grip on her hand.

Taylor walked up to them. "I was beginning to wonder if you were gonna just stay behind," she said cheerfully.

Amy turned pink; she seemed to be doing a lot of that. "I'd like to. I'd really like to. But I know there's stuff I've gotta do back in Brockton Bay." She turned to Nara. "But I'll be back. I promise. And this time I'll stay. A week, maybe more."

Nara nodded. "I'd like that," she replied. "I'd like that a whole lot."

"And in the meantime you can email each other, or just chat online," Gladys pointed out.

Theo blinked. "What? You've got the _internet_ here?"

Sveta chuckled. "Well, _yes_. They ran a line through the portal and put up repeater towers. How do you think I keep in touch with Dragon for the game?"

"Uh, game?" asked Brian. "What game?"

"Oh, it was something that Mike started up with me, back when I was in the asylum," Sveta explained. "He gave all the details of the world to Dragon, and now she's running it. I'm playing something called a 'Queen's Rider'. It's a lot of fun."

"So wait, you've got this awesome town in the middle of nowhere, you've got sailing boats to catch fish, and you still use the internet?" Aisha shook her head. "Wow. Just wow."

Danny cleared his throat. "I hate to be the responsible adult here, but we've still got to get back to the train stop." He picked up his overnight bag. "Thanks again for putting us up, Gladys. I'll see you again sometime."

"I'll hold you to that," the teacher replied. She watched fondly as Riley embraced Amy.

"You come back soon, big sis," the bio-tinker told the biokinetic. "I miss you a lot."

"I already said I would, but yeah, I'll be back." Amy grinned at Riley. "And I am _so_ gonna tease you when you fall for a boy for the first time."

Riley rolled her eyes. "Pfft, never happen."

"Uh huh, right." Amy turned to Nara, then glanced at the others. Theo and Brian studiously looked off into the distance, while Taylor made go-ahead gestures. Aisha openly grinned as Amy leaned in and kissed the blue-skinned girl, then clung to her for a moment.

"Okay," Amy said roughly as she broke the embrace. "Let's go." She didn't look back, but Taylor caught her wiping her eyes. Stepping up alongside Amy, Taylor put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze.

"It's so sweet," Theo observed cheerfully. "Our little Amy's growing up."

"I'm older than both of you, and you know it," Amy muttered, then blew her nose.

"Hey, I'm younger than all of you, and _I've_ had more kisses than Amy," Aisha declared.

"Oh, really?" Brian's voice was full of interest, and not in a good way. "So whose kneecaps do I have to break, once we get back to Brockton Bay?"

Aisha made a rude noise. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

As her friends bantered, Taylor caught Danny's eye and grinned; he grinned back. Life was looking good; there would be challenges ahead, but with luck and the help of those near and dear to her, she would be able to face and overcome them.

* * *

End of Epilogue One

* * *

Epilogue Two: Mike

* * *

_Life was looking good; there would be challenges ahead, but with luck and the help of those near and dear to her, she would be able to face and overcome them._

I blinked myself awake as I typed these words. "What the hell?" I muttered, looking at the text on the screen. Slowly, I scrolled upward. Page after page of story was there, stuff I didn't remember typing. But it _was_ stuff that I had dreamed.

"Okay, that was weird." I knew I was talking out loud; it's an old habit, from years of living alone. "Did I just dream that and type it up in my dream, or what?"

Putting the laptop down on the small table I use to rest my legs on, I got up and went to the fridge. Taking a bottle of water out – I keep several there for that purpose – I swigged from it, feeling the coolness spreading through my chest and stomach. It didn't wake me up as much as I wanted, so I went and had a shower. Standing in the cubicle with the warm water running over me, I felt my head clearing.

"Did I just dream that, or did I actually go somewhere else?" I asked the shower wall. A moment later, I chuckled. "Yes." It was the age-old question; when we dream, does it all happen in our own skull or do our consciousnesses actually travel to far-distant worlds?

I was ill-equipped to answer that one, so I shelved it for the moment. After drying off, I got dressed and went back to read over what I had written.

It was actually pretty good. Reading through it, I found myself reliving the dream. Unlike most of my dreams, it had been coherent, and I was able to recall large chunks of it.

"Huh. It was an interesting experience, but I don't think I want to repeat it." I set about posting it to Spacebattles, Sufficient Velocity, Questionable Questing and Fanfiction dot net, as I usually did. That done, I wondered what I would do next.

_Hm,_ I thought. _Maybe a sequel._

The reviews were already starting to come in; I read over a few of them, and was encouraged. People seemed to like the character 'Michael Allen', so I figured that I could use him, er, me, again. The only trouble was, he was dead. In that world, anyway.

"So," I mused, "Let's do something different."

* * *

_Lisa sat at her computer. Since returning from Sanctuary, she'd spent a lot of time thinking about Michael Allen, and the story that he had apparently written, the one that she had lived through. She had also started browsing all the fanfiction sites she could find online, trying to get an insight into the mind of the fanfiction writer._

_**He enjoyed being the smartest person in the room, especially when I was around, **__she told herself. __**He **_**wrote****_ himself that way, even though he knew that would annoy the crap out of me._**

_Leaning back, she mused over that, while her power made other connections. __**This was not the first fanfiction he's written,**__ she realised. __**No fanfiction writer ever kills off their self-insert on the very first fic. What else has he written? And what's he had us do in the other ones?**_

_She thought about that for a while. __**He's a guy. He lives alone. No love life until he met Gladys. Which was kind of a surprise for him. So … **__The connections were inevitable._

_Her lips tightened. __**Write **_**that **_**sort of fanfiction about me, will you?**__ Opening a new word-processing document, she began to type. __**Let's see how **_**you**_** like it.**_

* * *

I found my fingers typing without my conscious volition. _I, Panacea_ spelled itself at the top of the new document. I blinked. _What?_

I felt my consciousness slipping away, even as I typed more lines. The truth came to me, all too late. _I went somewhere, all right. I fell into the story._

My last conscious thought was, _Oh god, here we go again._

* * *

End of Epilogue Two

End of _**Security!**_

* * *

Thank you for reading. This story is over, but Michael Allen's adventures will continue in the pages of _**I, Panacea**_, by the same author.

29/05/16


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